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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23489875">Three Days Until Dawn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapscher/pseuds/chapscher'>chapscher</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Animal Death, Hospitalization, M/M, Slow Burn, Snowed In, Suicide mention, Witch Shane, obi's fine don't worry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:14:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>54,353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23489875</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapscher/pseuds/chapscher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once every fifty years, Shane has three days to live as a human before the curse he is under changes him back into a ghostlike spirit. Shane devotes his time to figuring out his own mystery: who cursed him, why, and, most importantly, how he can finally break free. It just so happens that this year he has a visitor with him in the old house - a man who also is searching for answers to unsolved mysteries.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>309</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/gifts">uneventfulhouses</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Yesi as a part of the 2020 Shyan Valentine's Exchange. Happy belated Valentine's Day.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>PART I</strong>
</p><p>Three days. With everything planned and aligned and calibrated, Shane had three days and then the chance won’t come to him again for another 50 years. For three days, he could be human again.</p><p>He was ready.</p><p>In his favorite spot below the maple tree, Shane focused all his energy on drawing a circle around him in the snow. To the outsider, a thin, dark stick dragged itself along a slightly wobbly circle, carving its own path. That’s all Shane had been for almost as long as he remembered. He had changed a lot since then, as had the rest of the world, as had his home, which still stood only a few dozen yards away from the maple tree.</p><p>Shane drew a sigil on the snow circle - something he had memorized long ago and had spent the past century drawing over and over and over again in his mind. For the first time in decades it finally made itself useful.</p><p>“I ask,” Shane said, his voice sounding like nothing more than the sigh of the wind. “To return to the world. To take the corporeal form of the man I once was. To breathe the air of the new Earth and feel its life beneath my hands. I ask to be given this form so I may find the answer to questions unanswered in life. I ask so that I may know all I need to rest.”</p><p>From over the blue and pink horizon Shane could see the first lights of dawn and immediately closed his eyes. A creeping dread fogged his mind but he tried to suppress it as he continued.</p><p>“I ask…” He hesitated and spoke slowly. “I ask for life. I ask for the transfer of life. No manipulation and no malice has influenced the decision of a life transferred. I shall take responsibility for the life taken. As long as I walk, they shall lie in dreamless sleep until the dawn of the third day. If I do not return to this realm, they will die and I will live in their vessel. If I return, they shall live. A life for a life.”</p><p>He bowed his head, knowing there was no going back now.</p><p>“The life shall be the first I see upon waking as human. With the promise of this responsibility, I open my eyes.”</p><p>Shane hesitated again but not for long. After all, time was against him. He hated the thought of sacrifice but it was something he had to confront or else he may never get to the bottom of this.</p><p>Shane opened his eyes.</p><p>The world was deafening.</p><p>For the first time in decades Shane could feel the freezing air against his skin and ice soak into his clothes as he knelt in the snow. He breathed and everything ached as his lungs filled. Everything stung and the world lurched to life around him, Shane able to hear the wind and the sound of birds rustling through the canopy – things that his ghostly form was deaf to. His was a muted, faded, numb world for so long that life was physically harmful in its excess. He shouted, partially in pain and partially in relief, hearing his voice after such a long silence. Steam rose from his mouth with the sound, following Shane in small clouds as he panted for breath.</p><p>The sacrifice.</p><p>With his physical form Shane had physical reactions to emotions again, and the nausea that came with his sense of dread was nearly enough to make him double over. But he had to take responsibility.</p><p>Shane got to his feet and squinted into the sunrise. There was nothing immediately in front of him, which was a relief, but Shane knew better than to think that he was in the clear yet. He followed his first line of sight, not daring to stray from his path or even admire his old home as he walked past it, down the driveway, across the gravel road, and into the forest on the other side. Not ten steps past the shrubline and Shane saw the body of a stag lying on the ground, fresh hoof prints around it.</p><p>Shane knelt down beside the creature and touched it. It was still warm. The first warm body Shane had touched in a very long time and he could feel it already starting to cool.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. He meant it, even though he was relieved that his sacrifice had taken an animal instead of a human being like it did last time.</p><p>
  <em>The girl had never slept easy and had only stepped outside to investigate what was happening with the stick under the maple tree. It was an accident.</em>
</p><p>Shane shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the memory. Although it confined him to his incorporeal form for fifty years, Shane didn’t regret the decision to give the girl her life back almost immediately. He remembered sitting beside her in the snow for those few minutes, making sure her lifeless body didn’t freeze and knowing that he couldn’t put her or her family through this despite how badly he needed to finish his work. He gave the girl her life back and ended his time as human before her mother even realized that she was missing.</p><p>Shane got to his feet and went to the house, digging up a key he had hidden by the shed door. He picked up a sled and a heavy blanket and returned to the stag. The body had to stay safe, or else Shane would have to live out the rest of his natural life in the animal’s body, which may not be able to live for very long. In the beginning, that would have sounded horrible, but after existing for nearly 380 years, anything to cut his time short began to sound appealing.</p><p>He did, however, still want answers. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to truly rest without them.</p><p>As Shane wrapped the stag’s body in a blanket and dragged it onto the sled, he marveled at how easy it was to manipulate the world around him now that he had his physical form back. When one is confined to the spiritual world, the smallest action, such as closing a door or opening a book is so laborious and draining that it could take Shane hours to do anything and it always left him weak. And then, time and time again, some living person would walk by, pick up whatever Shane was reading, and put it back on the shelf. Needless to say, there was work Shane could do in these three days that he wouldn’t have been able to do in decades as a noncorporeal.</p><p>However, he still found himself bound to the house.</p><p>Along the property limits there was a sort of wall that he simply could not cross, neither as a spirit nor a human. Given, there hadn’t been many times when he genuinely did attempt to cross it. Even approaching the limits too closely filled Shane with a sense of dread that dragged down any other thought. Touching the boundary was like touching sheer agony that made the numbing sameness of being trapped on the property seem like a paradise. When he did touch the boundary, he never did for long.</p><p>The body of the sacrificial deer safe and warm in the shed, Shane could finally walk through the front door of his own home. As he did he took a moment to pause and breathe deep. When the house was his it smelled of the wood oven, incense, and sage. Today it smelled of furniture polish. So it didn’t truly feel like home, but at least it was warm – a luxury that Shane didn’t realize that he had missed until that moment.</p><p>There was a long list of things Shane had yet to do. He needed to open up the well in the basement so he could access his private library. There were notes and journals to pour over and he only had three days. But he had to know. What had happened to him? Who had done it? And where was his actual body?</p><p>Shane went right to the basement and picked up the sledgehammer he had stolen and hidden from the construction workers who had refurbished a bathroom thirty years ago. Hammer in hand, Shane went directly to the sealed well, not wanting to waste a moment’s time. He needed the hammer if he was going to break through the foot-thick concrete well cover that the homeowners installed a few decades ago. Shane lifted the hammer up and brought it down hard on the well cover. The smallest sliver of concrete flew off and a little cloud of powdered rock lifted when Shane pulled the hammer away. Again, he struck at the cover, this time not even making a chip break away.</p><p>Shane swore; once and very loudly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The concrete lid to the well had actually started to fracture slightly when Shane stopped hammering long enough to hear a car drive up to the house. He paused and looked towards the direction of the sound as a rivulet of sweat trailed down his back. Over the past few hours Shane had been hammering away at the lid in ten-minute bursts, his arms and back sore from the labor. Hopefully, he thought, someone had driven up the driveway only to turn around. Instead he heard the distinct sound of car doors slamming closed.</p><p>Shane tried to crash the sledgehammer down onto the concrete lid one last time, but his tired arms could barely lift it and the hammer simply tumbled onto the ground. He fanned himself for a moment before pulling on his shirt and coat and going back upstairs, barely having enough strength left to push open the heavy basement door. He rushed into the foyer and peered through the front door’s stained glass panel.</p><p>A black van had pulled into the driveway and several people in heavy coats moved around it like bees, unpacking equipment from the back. One of the figures, who only carried a backpack and a bedroll, approached the door.</p><p>Shane stepped back and tried to evaluate what was happening. He had planned this weekend, this specific weekend, because the house was always empty. The current caretakers had always let the house be vacant this month, probably believing that it was too costly to heat. Or they had always traveled out of state. Shane was never entirely sure, but he knew that the people in the driveway had never been there before.</p><p>The figure knocked at the door.</p><p>Shane took a second to decide on what he was going to do before reaching out and opening the door. The idea was to say something along the lines of “Hello. I’m sorry, but we’re going through some minor refurbishing and are closed for this weekend. I apologize for the miscommunication and any inconvenience. Would you like me to reschedule your visit?”</p><p>It was a reasonable attempt to get them out of the way. However, all Shane managed to say before he saw the figure’s face was “Hello.”</p><p>The man in front of Shane had the most beautiful dark eyes he had ever seen and it had startled him into silence. The rest of the man’s face was incredibly attractive too, with full lips and a radiant smile. It was like looking at a painting of a man instead of seeing a real person. Sure, a fair number of attractive people had come by and even lived in the house over the centuries; but Shane had never seen them while he inhabited a physical form. He had forgotten about how seeing someone like that made the pulse race and the tongue turn clumsy.</p><p>“Hey,” the man said, the words doing little to interrupt his friendly yet genuine smile. “My name is Ryan Bergara. We’ve been exchanging emails.”</p><p>“Oh,” Shane stammered as he realized why he didn’t know that anyone was visiting that weekend. As convenient as email was for people, to Shane it was one of the few methods of communication that he couldn’t eavesdrop on. He used to be able to sit by a phone or page through the booking ledger, reading it on his own time. A digital world meant that he had to follow people and read over their shoulders and frankly he preferred lying under the maple tree and dissociating as opposed to babysitting the living. “Right.”</p><p>Ryan looked up at Shane, clearly waiting for something. It was then that Shane realized that he had completely forgotten to introduce himself.</p><p>“The caretaker, Mr. Barclay, isn’t here and I don’t expect him back this weekend. I’m Shane Madej, and I’m looking over this place for the time being.”</p><p>Ryan looked Shane up and down before saying, “I see that.”</p><p>Shane looked down at his clothes, something that he didn’t need to take into consideration until the past century. Over the years his clothing could be read as “casual,” “formal,” and “old-fashioned,” but for the past several decades his clothing had landed firmly in the realm of “costume.” His shirt was probably still passable as formal wear, but nobody wore breeches and stockings anymore.</p><p>At least Ryan wasn’t about to ask him to prove that he worked there.</p><p>Shane stepped aside and let Ryan in, jumping out of the way as the rest of the people came inside, carrying boxes that were apparently full of camera equipment. Ryan moved to help them unload but one of the men raised his hand and told him to not worry about that. So instead Ryan stood by Shane’s side in the corner, the two watching the group move around and the front door open and close.</p><p>“So,” Ryan said, clearing his throat. “Do you do the historical tours here?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“I was hoping that perhaps you could sit in on the introductory section,” Ryan said. “I always like someone to give a little information on the background of a place.” He leaned over and said in a voice not meant for the others to hear, “Someone to check my work, you know what I mean?”</p><p>Shane shook his head.</p><p>“Oh! Uh.” Ryan’s cheeks were a dark pink, although Shane rationalized that that may have been from the cold. “Have you seen any of BuzzFeed Unsolved?”</p><p>“No.” Shane glanced at Ryan’s hat and finally figured out what the visible letters “ZZFEED” meant. “Sorry, I haven’t.”</p><p>“It’s alright,” Ryan said, shaking his head and waving his hand dismissively, although he looked a little hurt. “It’s a webseries. You can watch it on YouTube. What I do is I discuss unsolved crimes and present different theories associated with them. I also go into haunted locations and perform several ghost hunting techniques while I talk about the history of a place.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“The thing I love about places like this,” Ryan said, “is that it’s kind of a joining of an unsolved mystery and the traditional supernatural fodder.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>Ryan looked taken aback, surprised that Shane didn’t know. “Well, I mean… Xander was a witch, allegedly.”</p><p>Shane tried to keep calm as he heard his old name. After all this time, Shane’s persona of Xander survived. Of course he knew this (after all, the house had “The Xander Witch House” written on a large plaque outside), but he never heard someone explain Xander to him before. Long story short, Shane had known better than to act as a witch under his real name. Therefore, he broke off a fraction of his middle name, Alexander, and did all his writings and dealings under that name alone. He doubted that anyone in the town knew of Shane Madej, but he knew that almost everyone had heard of, respected, and feared the near-mythical Xander.</p><p>“Yes,” Shane said. “I know of Xander.”</p><p>“And then there’s the mystery around him.”</p><p>“About who he was?”</p><p>“About what happened to him.”</p><p>“Oh,” Shane said.</p><p>In the centuries of his existence, Shane had never once thought that his fate would be a mystery to anyone else. If anything, Shane was sure that his fate was on record somewhere, but apparently it wasn’t. There had been many tours through the old house and Shane had always made sure to be present for each new tour guide, just to listen if someone had found an answer. The official answer of the Xander House Historical Tour was that he had simply stopped operating as a witch and abandoned the house after the church increased surveillance. Shane knew that wasn’t right, but for years he thought that it was something that everyone else had believed without question. He never imagined that other people were out there looking for answers – for <em>his</em> answers. All at once Shane’s work became that much more complicated but also so much easier but also far more helpless knowing that, even with multiple people working, the mystery had not yet been solved. He had so many questions he wanted to ask Ryan but instead Shane just repeated:</p><p>“Oh.” And. “That’s interesting.”</p><p>Ryan shrugged. “I’m sure it’s all very old-hat for you. But still, I want to go over all of it for the benefit of the viewers.” He looked down at his bedroll and backpack. “May I put my stuff away? I was thinking that I could do the overnight in the bedroom.”</p><p>“Of course,” Shane said, motioning Ryan to the stairs as one of the crew went up with a camera and a tripod. “I’ve heard the bed is quite comfortable.”</p><p>“Oh!” Ryan said, clearly surprised. “I thought that I would lie next to it, that’s usually how I do things in ghost hunts like this. And Mr. Barclay said that he would rather me do it like this since the bed is an antique.”</p><p>Shane shrugged. “This place is an odd gray area between historic location and attraction. People can rent this place out for the weekend and throw a madcap party if they wanted to. We just take all the actual original pieces and lock them away. Given, there aren’t many originals left; just a few paintings and kitchen things. This house is either a historian’s dream or a historian’s nightmare. Look at this bannister, it’s a replica of the 1910s bannister that was put in when the homeowners installed a half-bath. The reed organ in the parlor wasn’t brought in until 1880. There isn’t a wall or floorboard in this house that hasn’t been removed and replaced at least once. I don’t think anyone has a record of what the house was originally supposed to look like. Trust me, you’re allowed to sleep on the bed.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Positive. Besides, it’s freezing out. I’m not about to tell you to sleep on the floor when it’s this cold.”</p><p>“Oh, why thank you very much.” Ryan waved down one of the crew as he passed. “Mark, could you and Shane find where to shoot the introduction? The parlor looked good from the pictures online but we’ll need to see what fits. I’ll be right back down.”</p><p>Mark and Shane watched as Ryan headed up the stairs to the bedroom, his excitement and anxiousness palpable. The two turned to each other and Mark took Shane’s hand to introduce himself.</p><p>“I’m sorry about barging in like this,” Mark said. “We normally take our time setting up and are probably coming off as very rude today. However, Devon, TJ, and I would like to get back on the road before it starts snowing too hard. I understand that several inches are predicted for tonight.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“But we are all appreciative of you allowing us to film here, of course. Will you be staying here or would you like a lift back to town?”</p><p>“I’ll stay, thank you.” It wasn’t like Shane had much of a choice. But, even if he did, he wasn’t about to let a night of questioning Ryan go to waste.</p><p>“Probably for the best. I mean,” Mark looked up the stairs before stepping close to Shane and speaking quietly, “don’t get me wrong, Ryan is a professional, but sometimes his imagination gets the better of him when he has to do an overnight. He has walked out in the middle of the night once and… well… if he wants to do that can you perhaps calm him down a little? Sit with him? He’s been on edge the whole drive over since there’s only one car and he’s essentially going to be stranded here until tomorrow morning. I mean, don’t tell him that I told you to take care of him, but… take care of him.”</p><p>Shane nodded in agreement, although he had a hard time picturing the polite man with the stunning smile being that afraid.</p><p>“Thank you,” Mark said. He stepped back and looked Shane up and down for a moment. “We didn’t expect you to do this in costume if you didn’t want to.”</p><p>Shane groaned internally, wondering if he would need to somehow find a change of clothes at some point. “It… grounds me in the history of the place. I feel like I’m always wearing this here.” It wasn’t a lie.</p><p>“I’m sure Ryan has mentioned this, but are you interested in having a recorded interview? All we need is some information about the place and, if you want, your theories on the Xander disappearance. Sometimes the historian or caretaker we interview will stick around for Ryan’s investigation, sometimes they go relax quietly in another part of the building. It’s up to you. If you want to be filmed you’ll need to sign a few papers that give us permission.”</p><p>Shane looked down at the papers and clipboard that Mark pulled from the bag at his side. He thought about everything he had planned for that weekend and how long it had taken him. How it will be another fifty years before he has another chance to research his mystery in his own way. What if the information was so muddied after 350 years that nothing that Ryan had was accurate and this was a complete waste of time? It was, of course, a possibility – a possibility that would be appropriate based on how historically inaccurate the Xander Witch House had become. However, if Ryan did have any new information Shane would have to be a fool to ignore it.</p><p>It was a gamble, but Shane didn’t have many options.</p><p>“How exactly does…” Shane gestured vaguely at the camera equipment as he took the papers from Mark, “this work?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Forgive me for I have sinned. I have words in Shane’s spoken vernacular that didn’t exist until after 1670. I went back and forth on this for a while and decided to have his spoken English evolve with the times. Actual Shane’s filler words tend to be more modern and simply writing around them or changing them so they herald from a more appropriate time made my Shane sound too out-of-character. To any linguist reading this, I want you to know that I know what I have done and hope you can forgive me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This week on BuzzFeed Unsolved I’m in The Xander Witch House in Creedence, Connecticut as part of my ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?”</p><p>Shane gaffawed and quickly covered his mouth when Ryan turned to glare at him. Shane hadn’t meant to have that kind of outburst but he wasn’t prepared for the serious tone in Ryan’s voice. He looked to the cameras for reassurance but wasn’t able to make Mark or anyone’s faces out from behind them. Hand still over his mouth Shane turned his attention back to Ryan.</p><p>“That was extremely rude of me, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“No! I mean it. I didn’t mean to laugh at you, it just caught me off guard. I didn’t expect you to be so… straightforward.”</p><p>“Alright,” Ryan said, his voice was disapproving but a faintly amused look flickered in his eyes and on the corners of his lips. “I suppose that brings us to The Xander Witch House’s resident historian, Shane Madej.”</p><p>“Hello,” Shane said to the camera. Immediately deciding that talking to the camera was awkward, Shane looked back to Ryan, who seemed to be studying him. “I really didn’t mean to laugh.”</p><p>“Usually I ask guests on this show if they believe in ghosts or not. Although I think you may have already given us your answer, I’m going to ask anyways. Do you think ghosts are real?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“May I ask why not?”</p><p>It wasn’t a lie. Shane honestly didn’t believe in ghosts, and he never had. He knew in his head that, given his age and the time he spent without a corporeal body, he himself could be defined by some as a ghost. Although he couldn’t prove it, Shane was fairly certain that “ghost” wasn’t what described him. He thought himself as more of a “discorporate spirit.” It sounded like a simple matter of semantics and maybe it was, but if ghosts were the spirits of those who had died then when do they appear? Why isn’t the spirit world overwhelmed with them?</p><p>Yes, there were times when Shane wondered if he was a ghost. However, he had seen a fair dozen people die in the house and none of them had ever joined him, even for a little while. The one he remembered the clearest was from the 1980s - an old man who had lain in a bed for about a month while his middle-aged children took care of him. Towards the end he had sat up and claimed to have seen a horse-drawn carriage pass through the house, his late wife waving from the window. Shane was sitting with him when the old man saw it, but Shane didn’t see anything. When the man died two days later it was the last Shane saw of him. A year or so after that, when the family was clearing out the house, the old man’s granddaughter saw him sitting by the fireplace. But Shane was in the room and knew there was nothing. Shane had never believed, but his mind settled on one thing that he was positive of: that if ghosts exist, they only do so in the minds of the living.</p><p>There are no such things as haunted buildings; only haunted people.</p><p>“‘Why don’t I believe in ghosts?’” Shane repeated slowly, trying to think of a way to phrase it that didn’t raise too many questions about his past. “I’ve never seen one.”</p><p>“Is that all that it will take? Because photographic evidence does exist.”</p><p>“And it needs to be replicated by people other than the original photographer and in a variety of conditions.”</p><p>“Okay, that’s what we in the trade know as ‘goalpost moving.’”</p><p>“That’s not ‘goalpost moving,’ that’s my stance.”</p><p>“Why is a single photographer not enough for you?”</p><p>“In 1917,” Shane began, albeit perhaps a bit too passionately because he was immediately derailed as Ryan started giggling.</p><p>“No no, go on,” Ryan said through his smile. “Tell me what happened in 1917.”</p><p>“Two little girls drew pictures of fairies, cut them out, posed them, took pictures of them, claimed they were real, and fooled a bunch of people. Well, not a bunch of people, but they fooled Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: the most gullible man who ever lived. But that is enough for me to think that any supernatural evidence should require more than one person collecting photographic proof.”</p><p>“That’s… fair,” Ryan said, his eyes looking up and brow furrowed in thought. “But what about if we collect evidence on our shoot? You know there’s nothing to fake evidence with here.”</p><p>Shane waved a hand. “There’s always a way. I’d still want to see someone else collect proof. However, I am more compelled to personally accept evidence if I’m there when it’s collected.”</p><p>“Generous.”</p><p>Ryan’s tone was sarcastic but, as before, there was something else about it – something hidden just behind his expression and only barely peeking through. They were arguing but it didn’t feel like it. It was… playful? Shane couldn’t decide.</p><p>“So,” Ryan said, crossing his legs and adjusting the file folder on his lap. “What can you tell us about The Xander Witch House?”</p><p>Shane tried to focus on the script that he had heard the tour guides give: that the house was built in 1655. That in 1671 there was a raid of the house as the property owner, “Johnathan Smith,” was accused of witchcraft and it was during this raid when the final Xander letters were found under a floorboard in the parlor (it was actually hidden under a floorboard in the small sitting area that got converted into a half-bath over a century ago, but that wasn’t important). Shane talked about a tuberculosis outbreak that swept through the colonies at the time and how people thought it was Xander’s curse, which was probably the only thing that kept them from burning the place to the ground. He tried to speak from a distance, he tried to approach the story in the same way the tour guides did, but he couldn’t talk about the Xander persona without talking about how he had made potions (or, rather, salves) in the kitchen and how he got his ingredients. He talked about the fake pantry off of the kitchen, with the removable wall that led down into the basement so he could hide from the police. Shane couldn’t help it, they were small things that he had never heard on the tours but never should have been forgotten. Although it was tempting to go on and talk about every homeowner since “Johnathan Smith,” Shane managed to restrain himself.</p><p>“I’m amazed that this place never got burned down,” Ryan said.</p><p>“Witch paranoia at that time, it… waxed and waned. The house definitely fell into disrepair in the 1670s and ‘80s, but eventually a skeptic bought it to prove a point and after that people kinda forgot that it was supposed to be cursed.” Shane paused and looked at the cameras and the small clock on the mantle over the fireplace. “I… I went on for a while, didn’t I?”</p><p>Ryan checked his watch. “A little.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it, we’ll find a way to edit it down. But that does bring us to our next discussion.” Ryan opened the file folder on his lap. “Who was Xander and, most importantly, what happened to him? Now, I have a few theories, but I’m interested in what you have to say.”</p><p>“There are two possible answers to ‘who was Xander?’ The first is to say that Xander was a name of a self-proclaimed witch who was active throughout the 1660s. There were some invoices found where people of the town paid for tonics and balms, everything exchanged in secret. But Xander was mostly known for his letters that were sent to prominent members of the community or posted as proclamations outside the church. He was vocally opposed to the influence of the church in the colonies, warning of a theocracy and encouraging skepticism among the general population.”</p><p>“I’m sure people loved that.”</p><p>“Yeah, there was a reason why he used a penname,” Shane said. “That brings us to the other interpretation of ‘who was Xander?’ or rather, ‘whose secret identity was Xander?’ And that is something that I don’t think anyone will ever know. He’s someone who didn’t want to be found.”</p><p>“You don’t think that he’s ‘John Smith’?” Ryan asked with a grin. “The totally convincing and entirely real name, ‘John Smith’?”</p><p>“I think it’s safe to say that that wasn’t his real name. Although it may have caused a few issues for some of the actual Johnathan Smiths who lived in the area.”</p><p>Ryan wheezed. “Can we just take a moment and imagine what it’s like to actually be named ‘John Smith’? There would be so many people who think that you’re using a fake identity.”</p><p>“It’s not like they can really accuse your name of being fake. You would say, ‘Oh, you think my name is fake? The most common name in the English-speaking world and you think it’s fake?’”</p><p>“That’s true, but if I were a hotel check-in clerk and someone came up to me all, ‘I’d like a room, my name is John Smith.’ I would be thinking, ‘This guy’s clearly having an affair in my hotel.’”</p><p>Shane grinned. “And if it were the 1600s you would think, ‘This guy’s a <em>witch</em>.’”</p><p>Ryan burst out laughing and Shane startled for an instant. His laughter was loud and sudden, his mouth open wide and a hand on his stomach. It was infectious and Shane covered his mouth as he began to laugh in turn. He tried not to think about how it had been literally centuries since he had elicited that reaction from someone and just how good it felt. How badly he had needed it.</p><p>“Okay,” Ryan said as his laughter finally petered off. “So you don’t know who he is other than him not being John Smith. But what are your theories to what happened to Xander?”</p><p>Shane took a second to turn over the question in his head as he quietly repressed the lonesome ache that came with Ryan’s laughter a few seconds ago. “The official stance is that Xander abandoned this house, his letters, and all witch-like practices as soon as the church called for an official manhunt. He never came out of hiding.”</p><p>“Something tells me that you don’t agree with this official stance.”</p><p>“It doesn’t sound like him. The months prior to the manhunt he had built up such a rapport with the people of Creedence that I think it would be highly unlikely that he would simply stop all communication without leaving them with a final warning. Besides, Xander was so critical of the church overstepping their bounds that he would most likely have become more vocal.”</p><p>“Do you think it was foul play?” Ryan asked.</p><p>Shane looked down in thought. He had considered that but if he were just murdered and if he was a ghost then why couldn’t he see anyone else’s departed souls? However, he wasn’t sure if he could rule it out quite yet. “I don’t know what it was.”</p><p>“Well, I have gathered five theories as to who may be responsible. Let’s see how they stack up.</p><p>“The first theory is that Xander was killed by Deliverance Haltman, Creedence’s resident apothecary. There were rumors of witches having methods of medicine that were more effective than most colonial apothecaries. While it was blasphemy to believe this kind of rumor, it would be tempting for a population that was so often plagued with deadly and infectious diseases. The apothecary had often warned people not to read Xander’s medical advice for various reasons. When questioned by the church about what to do about Xander, Deliverance swore that as soon as Xander revealed himself that he would, quote, ‘put an end to his menace.’ It was not long after Deliverance made his promise that Xander disappeared. It should be noted that, at the time, Haltman was perceived as the person most likely responsible for Xander’s disappearance, leading to Haltman becoming both famous and infamous in the little town.”</p><p>Ryan looked to Shane for his reaction and Shane tilted his head in thought. He did remember the threat that Haltman had made, but Shane had never thought of Haltman as much more than an illiterate blowhard. However, Shane did, as Xander, often put himself in direct competition with Haltman and people paid good money for treatments other than what the heavily regulated apothecary had on hand. However, Shane didn’t think that Haltman had the time or means to figure out Xander’s identity – especially since Xander only existed in writing. Besides…</p><p>“If it were Haltman,” Shane said, “And Haltman killed him… I don’t know why he wouldn’t have come forward with a body. Why not prove it? Even if he wasn’t sure how the town would react to that, he could have proved it after the people and the church voiced their approval.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ryan agreed with a nod. “That’s the issue I have with that too. In the texts associated with this theory there’s a passage that says, ‘the victory over the terror of the Witch Xander was a triumph for the city of Creedence, a coup that may have been performed by the singular but for the betterment of all.’ Which is to say that they weren’t concerned with <em>who </em>was responsible or <em>how</em>, only that Xander was removed in some way.”</p><p>“But is Haltman the sort of person who would accept that?”<br/>
<br/>
“That’s something we’ll never know for certain,” Ryan said. “Let’s move on.</p><p>“The second theory is that Xander was killed by Johnathan Underhill, Creedence’s Pastor. A devout puritan, Johnathan was insistent on bringing the practice of witch hunting into the new world. He was an outspoken opposition to the influence of the Xander persona, often directly addressing Xander’s writings in his sermons. He had also led many burnings of the Xander pamphlets. Under his leadership, the town became a theocracy and those who missed church services were given prison time with a chance at execution if found to be a heretic. After Xander’s disappearance, Underhill had the house (seemingly at random) searched and was able to recover original drafts of multiple pamphlets hidden under the floorboards. The house was ordered to be burnt, but soon after delivering the order, Underhill became violently ill. Fearing that the house was cursed, the villagers refused to carry out his order. Underhill died two days later.”</p><p>Shane sat back and mulled over this new information. He had no idea that Underhill had died so soon after Shane’s own departure from the physical world. “The theory is…”</p><p>“There are two theories attached to this. The first is that Underhill found Xander and had him killed. This house was then an abandoned property that Underhill planted evidence in.”</p><p>“But why wouldn’t Underhill go through the town square with Xander’s head on a stick? That certainly sounds like something he would do.”</p><p>“That’s why the identity of Xander is such a huge part of this mystery. Because I imagine that if Xander was a person who people saw as closely tied to the church leadership then Underhill wouldn’t exactly want to announce to everyone that Xander had been right under his nose the whole time and he only just realized it. So yeah, he would pick a house that was a ways out from town and claim it was actually an outsider; that makes sense to me.”</p><p>Shane tilted his head. “Alright, I can go along with that theory. What’s the other one tied to Underhill?”</p><p>“The other theory is that Xander never existed and that he was made up by Underhill and the church in order to gain more power over the town. Two things I like about this theory. First of all, motive. That’s a solid political motive. Second, Xander was never shy in his writings about him being a witch; so why did Underhill wait so long before calling for a manhunt?”</p><p>“But most of the writings were warning people not to give the church that much power.”</p><p>“Aside from that I think it’s a good theory.”</p><p>Shane laughed. “Aside from that one huge, glaring flaw, it’s perfect.”</p><p>“The last two theories are short but they have been prominent in online discussions, so I think they’re worth looking at.”</p><p>“Let’s hear ‘em.”</p><p>“The fourth theory is that Xander was killed by a vigilante after the manhunt was declared. I personally think this theory is a bit of a cop-out, especially since proponents of this theory can’t seem to backup that anyone from the town had gone missing or had been involved in any ‘accident’ at the time (although I’m not sure how accurate the records were). And also, as we’ve been asking with the others, why not announce it?”</p><p>“I mean,” Shane said with a wobbly hand gesture. “Even though it was a witch and that witchcraft was seen as a more severe crime than murder… confessing to killing Xander would have still been confessing to murder, which is something that they kill you for. Perhaps the others we talked about would have had enough sway in the community in order to avoid being sentenced, but not everyone did.”</p><p>“Okay, but the theory still doesn’t really answer the question of what happened to Xander. It just acknowledged that Xander was probably murdered.”</p><p>“What’s the last theory?”</p><p>“It’s kinda related to the previous theory but… I don’t think you’re going to like it.”</p><p>Shane smiled. “Try me.”</p><p>“The fifth and final theory is that Xander was killed by other witches.”</p><p>“Well, Ryan, you seem to already know me quite well,” Shane said. “I think we can do better than ‘witch battle.’”</p><p>Ryan wheezed and shook his head. “Okay, but in the strictest, most realist sense of the word ‘witch’… so not thinking magic and broomsticks – more thinking herbs and spiritualism – is this so farfetched? You’re trying to do something very quietly and under the radar and then all of the sudden there’s this guy who’s writing pamphlets and causing a huge scene. Security’s beefed up and now you can’t do some of the witch-like stuff you wanted to do. If I were in that situation, figuring out who Xander is and how to get him to stop would be at the top of my to-do list.”</p><p>“And then they killed him?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Maybe they tried being civil but he didn’t take to it so they killed him to keep him from potentially revealing who they were. Or maybe they were civil and he agreed to go cold-turkey on the witch business and faked his disappearance.”</p><p>“You know?” Shane said, “I kinda like this theory.”</p><p>“And then they cast a spell and turned him into a toad.”</p><p>“Nevermind.”</p><p>Ryan giggled and once again Shane found himself laughing with him. “You don’t like that?” Ryan asked, smile beaming. “Little toad Xander? Hoppin’ along.”</p><p>“That’s… ridiculous.” Shane watched Ryan try to hold back more laughter and smiled, shaking his head. “The rest of the theory is fine. In fact, it’s my favorite of the ones you listed. A group of people who Xander drew some attention to – they didn’t want attention, they did something about it. That makes sense.”</p><p>“And then…”</p><p>“Killed him.”</p><p>“Toad time.”</p><p>“Ryan, no.”</p><p>“Well,” Ryan said, paging through the file folder, “That’s it for my theories. You like the last one. I like thinking that it was Underhill. Found Xander, killed Xander, Xander was someone well-known enough in the community to want to cover it up, planted evidence in this house… died under mysterious circumstances two days later.”</p><p>“Yeah, was that supposed to be a curse or something? Was that what you were alluding to?”</p><p>“I am of the school that there is no such thing as coincidence.”</p><p>“Okay, well that’s… okay.” Shane looked at the cameras with a resigned expression and then back at Ryan. “That gets a little mystical for me.”</p><p>“You may not believe in curses, but do you believe in fate?”</p><p>Shane sat back on the couch and crossed his legs, studying Ryan. Ryan: someone who had walked in during one of the smallest windows of time in Shane’s 380 year existence where the world could interact with him. Someone who had literally walked into Shane’s house with all the answers. Someone who wanted to know what had happened just as badly as Shane did.</p><p>“Fate,” Shane said. “I could be convinced.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryan’s investigation of the house wasn’t something that Shane was prepared for. Next to all the research that Ryan had clearly put into the mystery, the ghost hunt that spanned the next few hours was absurd. They sat in the dining room and the parlor talking to air, asking it pertinent questions like “Is anyone here with us?” and “What happened to you?” and “Did you put a curse on Johnathan Underhill?” Shane had no idea what Ryan was expecting to hear, but talking to what he believed to be spirits seemed to genuinely frighten him, so Shane didn’t want to be too dismissive. He just sat in silence, listening to the house settle. It was nice, really. After all those decades, Shane thought he would have been sick of quiet meditation, but when it’s something that he chose to do it was far more enjoyable. It was enough to make Shane put aside the ridiculousness of having the two of them and a camera crew crowd into what was really a notably small house.</p><p>After several minutes of complete silence and nervous looking around, Ryan finally spoke up. “Okay! That’s all from me for now. We’ll be back in a little bit for the séance. Perhaps you’ll feel a bit more talkative then. But now Shane and I are going upstairs to see the other spirit that lives here.”</p><p>Shane arched an eyebrow at that. “‘Other spirit’?”</p><p>Ryan nodded. “Past employees and residents have reported seeing ghosts on the first floor, but never on the second. The second floor has only had reports of a shadow person.”</p><p>“A ‘shadow person’?” Shane was intrigued. “Who’s the shadow person?”</p><p>“Nobody knows. But I’m thinking, ‘What if it’s Xander?’ When people saw ghosts down here they were startled and a little creeped out, sure. But every report of the shadow person came with this incredible feeling of dread. When people saw that they weren’t just scared because they didn’t know what they were seeing – they genuinely felt that they were in danger.”</p><p>“That almost sounds like… what’s that thing? You know how some people wake up and they can’t move and start seeing demons and shit?”</p><p>Ryan groaned and buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Why did you have to go and say that?”</p><p>“What? Haven’t you heard of that? I forget what it’s called though.”</p><p>“It’s called sleep paralysis and I get it. Oh goddammit, does that mean that I’m gonna see this thing?”</p><p>Shane moved a little closer to Ryan, silently watching him rub his face. Mark had asked Shane to be there for Ryan, but really he didn’t need to be told that. The frightened glances of Ryan’s large, scared eyes were enough to make Shane want to comfort him and do anything he could to make Ryan smile again. Shane was sure that Ryan had that effect on other people as well, but it really struck Shane hard. Shane tried not to read too much into it, knowing that Ryan was the first person Shane was able to have this kind of interaction with in a very, very long time. Shane had probably just gotten sentimental because he was so starved for emotional contact. He knew that.</p><p>“Do you,” Shane started, glancing back to the crew before turning back to Ryan. “Do you <em>need</em> to investigate the bedroom?”</p><p>Ryan lifted his face from his hands and sat up straight, trying to look as if he was suddenly very sure of himself although his darting eyes gave him away. “I’m going to. After all, this is my job. I investigate.” He jumped to his feet, which startled Shane. “I mean, who knows, maybe I won’t even find anything.”</p><p>Shane got up too, trying to encourage Ryan’s feigned bravery and enthusiasm. The two of them went to the second floor. The only thing up there was a bedroom and full bath, cold from the rooms’ many windows. Ryan sat down on the four-poster bed and dug around in the backpack at his feet. A few seconds later he took out a rectangular device no larger than his palm. Ryan fidgeted with it for a few seconds before he pat the empty place beside him on the mattress, motioning Shane to sit down.  </p><p>“What is that?” Shane asked as he joined Ryan on the bed.</p><p>“It’s a spirit box,” Ryan said, showing Shane the device in his hand. “I’ve never used one before, but what it does is scan through radio frequencies – a new one every tenth of a second. So, therefore, if more than one word comes out of the spirit box that means that a spirit is speaking to us because the alternative is that over a dozen radio stations just happened to line up in a way that happened to produce a recognizable word. And, as I said earlier, I don’t believe in coincidence.”</p><p>“So if that thing says things,” Shane said, looking between it and Ryan to make sure he understood. “It means ghosts?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“According to whom?”</p><p>“According to paranormal investigators,” Ryan said. “It is a commonly held belief that ghosts are able to manipulate energy. Some things, like lifting up a book or something, that takes a lot of spiritual energy. Manipulating the spirit box, however, takes comparatively little spiritual energy. This makes it easier for the ghosts to communicate with us. I’m going to turn it on now. Are you ready?”</p><p>Shane had a lot of questions.</p><p>Ryan flipped a switch and the spirit box screamed to life, prompting Shane to let out a startled little yelp. It spat out mostly static, fractured words from news broadcasts, and the occasional musical note. Although it was frustratingly loud, after a few seconds Shane managed to hear the rhythm of the spirit box and the sound was at least not as chaotic.</p><p>“Use the spirit box to speak to us,” Ryan said to the room.</p><p>Shane closed one eye as if it would help shut out the cacophony of the spirit box. It did not.</p><p>“My name is Ryan and this is Shane. Can you say our names back to us?”</p><p>Hell, it was worth a try. Shane focused on the spirit box, not sure how he was supposed to manipulate it and thought as hard as he can, “Ryan. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>ERX GRT KRER KAF</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>Ryan stared intently at the spirit box. “We’ll need full words in order to understand you.</p><p>Shane’s eyelid twitched as he tried not to show how much he was focusing on the box, still thinking, “Ryan. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan.”</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>XSHH FAH AHEN ENN</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>“‘Shane!’” Ryan said, his eyes wide. “It said ‘Shane’.”</p><p>“‘Shane’? How did you hear ‘Shane’? I didn’t even hear ‘Shane.’ Maybe I heard ‘feign,’ but that is being extremely generous.”</p><p>The spirit box continued blurting out static as the two of them sat on the bed, both wondering if they’d ever hear Ryan’s name. Shane eventually gave up trying to manipulate the thing and just sat there listening and waiting for Ryan to react to some string of random sounds.</p><p>“I understand,” Ryan said to the room, “that you sometimes appear as a shadow. Is this your house?”</p><p>Shane quietly watched, the miscellaneous sounds of the spirit box still blaring.</p><p>“Was this your bedroom?” Ryan asked. “How do you feel about me sleeping in your bed tonight? That’s fun.”</p><p>Shane looked down at the spirit box. Although it formed nothing even close to words it did sound like it was getting louder.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>PXX LEEV SERN GUS</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>“‘Leave us’?” Ryan echoed.</p><p>“I heard ‘Pleasing us.’”</p><p>There were a few solid seconds of static before</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>VEU ERRGH AUGT MEIX</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>and a return to static.</p><p>Shane shook his head. “I got nothing.”</p><p>“Well it won’t always be clear.”</p><p>“You mean as clear as,” Shane made a staggered noise that was clearly supposed to simulate the spirit box.</p><p>“It might not be obvious until I go back and listen to it later.”</p><p>“I’m not trying to be dismissive,” Shane said. And he wasn’t. “But if it’s something that you don’t hear until you’re combing through the recording and listening for words, then I don’t think it’s exactly ‘obvious.’”</p><p>“Sometimes that’s the only way to communicate with spirits, you just really have to listen.”</p><p>Shane leaned back on his arms and watched Ryan listen to the spirit box. Ryan would occasionally ask the box questions, watching wide-eyed as the device continued to loudly cycle through radio stations. With each question Ryan’s voice became more and more anxious, his hands fidgety. And although Ryan didn’t announce that he heard anything, merely listening to the static was enough to make the tension within Ryan build. Anyone could see that.</p><p>“Ryan?” Shane asked, his voice soft and patient. “Can we turn the spirit box off? I’m getting a headache.”</p><p>“Yes. Yeah. I… yeah.” Ryan fumbled the thing off and looked around the dark, still room. “It’s really quiet now. I don’t like it.”</p><p>“It’s winter. It’s night. It’s gonna be quiet.”</p><p>“It’s too quiet.”</p><p>“You say that, but your eyes say, ‘as soon as this house starts making creeks I’m gonna hide under the bed.’”</p><p>“And that is an entirely reasonable reaction.”</p><p>Shane chuckled and threw up his hands. “As you say.”</p><p>“You know what?” Ryan said, tone flustered but a smile emerging. “You wouldn’t be so cavalier if it were <em>your</em> neck on the line. Why don’t you prove how much of a man you are and sleep with me tonight?”</p><p>They stared at each other.</p><p>“That came out weird,” Ryan clarified. “I didn’t mean-”</p><p>“No, sure, I get it.”</p><p>“I meant that if you were sleeping where I was sleeping then- oh nevermind.”</p><p>There was a subtle movement among the crew and low murmuring before one of them spoke up.</p><p>“Ryan?”</p><p>“What’s up, Devon?”</p><p>“I know you were planning a séance but we’re looking at the forecast. The roads are supposed to get pretty rough in about an hour and it looks like it will only just get worse. I hate to cut things short, but I would rather us leave now before things get too icy.”</p><p>“No, I understand,” Ryan said as he got to his feet. “Between this, the ghost hunt, the theories, the history, and my night vlog, we should have more than enough material for an episode.”</p><p>Shane stood up as well, taking off his microphone and handing it to one of the crewmembers as they began gathering everything but the stationary cameras. Ryan left the bedroom to help out but Mark lingered behind, turning to Shane.</p><p>“You did good,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to pick up Ryan and collect the cameras. Then we’ll be out of your hair, but we’ll keep you posted and let you know when the episode comes out.”</p><p>Shane nodded in agreement and followed Mark out of the bedroom and down to the foyer, where the others already had everything gathered up and packed into the van. He said his goodbyes to the rest of the crew and stood at the door by Ryan’s side as they watched the van carefully pull out of the snowy driveway and down the road.</p><p>“Is there anything else?” Shane asked, turning off the porch light and locking up the house. “Or do you just try to go to bed now?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ryan said, still not taking off his coat even though the front door was closed. “I suppose I better get started on that or else I’m going to put it off so long that I would just pass out as soon as I hit the pillow. Is there anything I need to know about up there? Like, ‘the door doesn’t close all the way’ or ‘don’t drink the water from the bathroom sink.’ Anything like that.”</p><p>“No, upstairs is pretty well maintained. Nothing to worry about with that.”</p><p>Ryan nodded but still didn’t move to head back up. “I… erm… I know I’ll see you in the morning, but I wanted to thank you for all the background information you gave on this place. I mean, I’ve been doing a fair bit of research but I didn’t get anywhere near that much information. It really is a fascinating site and I’m glad it has someone like you looking after it.”</p><p>Shane’s cheeks started to feel hot and although it had been countless years since it had last happened, he felt himself begin to blush. “Thank you for the opportunity.” Did that make sense with what Ryan just said? Shane could hardly think he was so touched by Ryan’s sentiment. “What you said up there,” Shane said with a nod in the bedroom’s general direction. “Did you mean it? Sleeping w-”</p><p>“No! No.”</p><p>“Oh,” Shane said, realizing he had pressed too far as he saw a hint of a blush tint Ryan’s ears. “You just seemed like you didn’t want to stay up there alone. And it’s a large enough bed, large enough for me to sleep and not be obtrusive.”</p><p>“Oh, you mean… I see.” Ryan shook his head, but it didn’t stop the flush that swept over his features. “I’ve slept alone in places before this. I’ll be fine. I keep a video diary, get almost no sleep, and then take a nap in the afternoon. It’s a very fine-tuned system. But thank you for offering that’s… that’s considerate of you.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to go up now. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Shane.”</p><p>Even if Shane were to think back to his human existence, he couldn’t remember the last time someone wished him goodnight. He mumbled a goodnight in response as Ryan disappeared up the steps but Shane could hardly believe the effect that Ryan was having on him, just by doing the smallest, simplest things. Shane tried to slow down and be reasonable – that he would be having this strong of a reaction if anyone would have come by and started talking to him for any meaningful length of time.</p><p>But it wasn’t just anyone.</p><p>It was Ryan.</p><p>Shane walked into the dining room to take a blanket out of the storage chest when he saw Ryan’s séance equipment lying undisturbed on the table. Among the collection of summoning artifacts was the file Ryan had been looking at earlier. Shane was very tired – a side effect of being human that he had forgotten about – but he knew he had to take advantage of this opportunity. He didn’t have the luxury of watching and re-watching the theory segment of Ryan’s video whenever he wanted new information.</p><p>So Shane gathered up the file folder, took a pad and pen off a hallway table, and settled down in the parlor, everything he needed in hand.</p><p>“Alright, Mr. Bergara,” Shane said in a whisper as he opened the file folder. “Let’s see what you have for me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>PART II</strong>
</p><p>“Shane?”</p><p>Shane blinked; only to close his eyes again. His neck was stiff from falling asleep on the couch and his arms hurt like hell. Why did he think that he could just break through that concrete lid in the basement yesterday afternoon? Everything was sore and his mind was hazy from sleep. However long he actually slept it was not enough.</p><p>“Shane!”</p><p>Shane then remembered Ryan. Specifically, he remembered Mark telling him to look after Ryan in case he wanted to leave several hours early.</p><p>He opened his eyes, squinting into the orange lamplight of the room. Ryan was standing a few feet away, phone at his ear. There was a familiar anxious look to his face, but without the undertone of fear that Shane had grown so used to seeing the other day.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Shane asked as he sat up. He looked down and saw Ryan’s file in a slightly crumpled pile next to the couch. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to read your research. I must have fallen asleep.”</p><p>“We’re snowed in.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Shane turned around to look out the window and saw what must have been over two feet of snow on the ground and a blizzard coming down so hard that Shane couldn’t even see the dark forest on the other side of the street.</p><p>“This is supposed to go on all day and even into tomorrow,” Ryan said, moving the phone away from his mouth as he walked over to the window. “Airport’s closed. The plows are working overtime, but just keeping the main roads clear for emergency vehicles is hard enough. Devon’s been trying to get in contact with someone to get a concrete answer, but it sounds like this road won’t get plowed until after the snow stops.” Ryan took a deep breath and turned to Shane. “I’m so sorry about this.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’re stuck here because of me! But I promise that I’ll find a way to get us out as soon as possible.”</p><p>Shane shook his head and got to his feet. “This isn’t your fault. And don’t worry about getting us out. It’s just snow. You can move it around, it melts… it won’t be there forever.”</p><p>Ryan sighed, resting his forehead against the windowpane.</p><p>“The entire city’s at a standstill,” Shane said, gathering Ryan’s file back up and setting it on the couch. “And so are the next cities over, I’m sure. Even if you did get back to town there still wouldn’t be anywhere to go. It’s best to just stay here. Wait until the plows come.” Shane paused, studying Ryan. “Did you get much sleep?”</p><p>Ryan shook his head. “That fucking shadow person.”</p><p>“You saw it?”</p><p>“No, I was just thinking about that spirit box session all night.”</p><p>Shane fluffed one of the couch’s decorative pillows. “Then how about you take a nap down here? Nobody ever saw the shadow person down here.”</p><p>“But they saw the ghosts down here.”</p><p>Shane hesitated. “I never did. Maybe I’m ghost-proof.”</p><p>Ryan forced a laugh but Shane was able to see a suggestion of a genuine smile tug at the corner of Ryan’s eyes.</p><p>“I’ll make us some food,” Shane said. “Mr. Barclay usually leaves some things in the pantry. I mean, it won’t be fancy, but it’ll be something.”</p><p>Ryan turned and leaned against the window. “It’s not too much trouble?”</p><p>Shane shook his head. “Not at all.”</p><p>Shane went to the small kitchen and began digging around. He knew there were boxes of cereal and canned fruits and meats stockpiled in the basement pantry. However, it was Shane’s first real meal in about a century and he wanted to make something special. There was a moment when Shane hesitated before taking the framed and antique cooking utensils off the wall, but then he remembered that it was his house and he could use whatever he wanted with his old kitchen stuff.</p><p>Shane worked slow, often getting distracted by the plenty of the modern kitchen. After several attempts, Shane successfully made coffee – a drink that he had seen nearly every single day for decades but had yet to try. Eventually he got everything cooked and into banged-up mugs and two immaculate plates that had been propped up in a china hutch for the past eighty-six years. Everything on a tray, he returned to the parlor.</p><p>Ryan was sleeping on the couch. The side of his face nuzzled against the satin underside of the throw pillow and he loosely held his phone in a hand that dangled to the floor. Shane approached and watched as Ryan’s body rose and fell with slow breaths. Shane could leave the food on the reed organ bench and eat in the dining room. There was more of Ryan’s file to copy out anyways. And that was exactly what Shane was about to do until Ryan suddenly stirred. </p><p>“Coffee?” Ryan asked, squinting up at Shane.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Ryan rubbed his eyes and sat up as Shane placed the tray on the bench and dragged it in front of the couch.</p><p>“Shane, you didn’t have to do this.”</p><p>“I wanted to.”</p><p>“This is too much.”</p><p>Shane shook his head and picked up a plastic, bear-shaped bottle of honey. “Waffles are never ‘too much.’”</p><p>Ryan poked at the circle of heart-shaped waffles that took up the entirety of his plate. “Is this from that antique iron in the kitchen?”</p><p>Shane sipped his coffee. He wished it were mead. “No.”</p><p>The two of them ate relatively quickly and in silence – a testament to how hungry they both were. Shane didn’t even realize how badly he needed food until the first bite of waffle hit the back of his tongue. He was ravenous. An inventory of the kitchen flashed through his mind and he began to plan what to devour next.</p><p>“Easy there, big guy,” Ryan said as he sipped at his coffee. “Eat any faster and you’ll give yourself the hiccups.”</p><p>“Are you gonna eat that?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Shane looked down at his empty plate, resisting the urge to lick the last of the honey off of it. “I’m sorry, I just realized that I forgot to eat yesterday.”</p><p>“All of yesterday?!”</p><p>Shane nodded.</p><p>“No wonder you’re so hungry. I’ll make you lunch later, okay? You’re clearly a better cook than me, but I want to pay you back for this. You know what?” Ryan paused as he reached down into his backpack and dug around. “I indulged my inner-child the other day.” He took out a little yellow bag. “You want some Gushers to tide you over?”</p><p>“What’s a Gushers?”</p><p>“You don’t know what Gushers are? It’s a gummy filled with goo. Do you want them?”</p><p>“More than anything.”</p><p>Ryan wheezed a laugh and opened the bag, dropping a few into Shane’s palm. His eyes were bright as he watched Shane try one. “Well? Good?”</p><p>“‘Good’? No.” Shane immediately ate the others in his hand. “I want more, though.”</p><p>Ryan gave him the bag and finished off the last bit of waffle on the plate. The two sat there, watching each other enjoy their food. Ryan arched his back and stretched with a long, vocal yawn. He lifted his arms over his head, lacing his fingers together his back cracked and shoulders flexed. The sleeve of Ryan’s t-shirt bunched and rolled towards his shoulder, showing off the muscle of his arms. It was enough for Shane to forget about the bag of candy, his eyes lingering on Ryan perhaps a bit too long than what was socially polite.</p><p>Ryan arched an eyebrow as he put his arms down. “Yes?”</p><p>Shane glanced down at Ryan’s arms again before looking back up to meet his eyes. “There’s something I need you to look at in the basement.”</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I feel like I should be bringing my camera.”</p><p>“You can if you want.”</p><p>Shane walked Ryan down into the basement. There wasn’t much down there save some storage boxes, pantry shelves, a few support pillars and, of course, the well. Shane flicked on the light switch, making a wire work lamp that had been bolted to the ceiling buzz to life.</p><p>Ryan took out his phone and started recording. “Shane has brought me into the basement of the Xander house. Was this part of the original structure or was it one of the later additions you were talking to me about?”</p><p>“It was part of the original, yes.”</p><p>“Oh shit.”</p><p>Shane turned to see Ryan staring wide-eyed at the well. “What? What’s wrong?”</p><p>“I don’t mess with wells, dude,” Ryan said. “There was this place that I went to last year with a well in the basement. Occultists threw sacrifices in it and it was said to be a portal to hell and was how demons entered the basement.” Ryan turned to Shane. “And you’re saying that this well was built for a <em>witch</em>?”</p><p>“This well,” Shane began, thinking of a way to sugar-coat this, “Was built for a house that was first owned by someone who allegedly practiced witchcraft, yes.”<br/><br/></p><p>“And it’s covered with a nice protective concrete lid that someone seems to have taken a sledgehammer to.”</p><p>“That was me.”</p><p>“<em>Why?</em>”</p><p>Shane sighed and carded his fingers through his hair, a small performance as he tried to think up a believable lie. “After a bit of research I discovered that it is highly likely that Xander may have hidden a few small items in the well. Mostly coins and beads and maybe even a document. Since this house is wanting for original artifacts, Mr. Barclay thought that it was worth examining. However, he also told me that he is not going to pay to have the lid removed and that if I want to follow through on my suspicion then I need to figure out how to do it myself.”</p><p>“So you went after it with a sledgehammer?”</p><p>“I don’t really have any other options,” Shane said as he picked up the hammer, his arms feeling weak in protest. “But I would like some help.”</p><p>Ryan kept glancing between Shane and the well, his phone still pointed at the concrete lid.</p><p>“Please help me,” Shane said. “This place is in a sort of historic limbo. People are arguing that too many modifications have been made over the centuries for this to be as protected as it should be. It’s why we have to rent the place out and hide the dishes. This place deserves better – it deserves people like you who treat it with respect. We may not find anything down there, but what if we do? What if we find something important, like a letter or a diary? Something that can change our perception of history.”</p><p>Ryan lowered his phone and breathed a deep sigh. “This really means that much to you?”</p><p>Shane nodded.</p><p>Ryan groaned and rubbed his palm against his eyes, brow furrowed as he thought. Whatever options he was considering did not take long, as the next thing out of Ryan’s mouth was, “Give me the hammer.”</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shane was perched on a pile of bagged salt beside the water softener. Every once in a while it and the boiler would hum, providing a soft drone to the steady pounding against stone and Ryan’s near-constant grunting. What Ryan was able to do in an hour made the work Shane did the day before look like nothing. Shane was fine with that. He would be the first to admit that he had never been particularly athletic in any sense of the word. Shane instead made himself useful by doing things like bringing glasses of cold water down for Ryan and setting up one of the stationary cameras to document his work. He didn’t know it, but if Shane were to look back at that footage, he would have been able to see his own playful and encouraging expression fade into a stunned stillness as soon as Ryan pulled off his sweat-stained shirt to mop his brow. Shane had forced a few laughs since then, but his mind had been occupied with the sight of Ryan for the past twenty minutes.</p><p>What Shane was realizing was that as liberating as having a corporeal form was, it had its own ways of limiting him that he never experienced as a spirit. What Shane was experiencing wasn’t sexual, but it wasn’t not sexual either. The best word he could find for it was simply “appreciation.” And it was this “appreciation” that kept Shane from being able to focus on or even look at anything else. To call Shane’s fascination simply “desirous” would be to oversimplify what was happening in Shane’s head. He looked at Ryan like he may look at a painting or, perhaps more accurately, a poem. There was a certain amazement in Shane’s eyes, as if he tried to hold onto the strange cocktail of emotions he felt for as long as he could.</p><p>The disembodied spirit cannot experience the flood of chemical emotions that the human body has. It cannot simulate the sensation of Shane’s cheeks, arms, and mind tingling with the whatever-it-was that Ryan had unknowingly prompted from him.</p><p>There were parts of humanity that Shane had forgotten over time that were slowly starting to make sense.</p><p>“Almost. There,” Ryan said, each word punctuated with a swing of the hammer.</p><p>Shane pulled himself out of his thoughts and got to his feet. “Really? So quickly?”</p><p>Ryan swung hard at the side of the slab and the concrete lurched upward before coming back down on top of the well and fracturing. Breathing heavy, Ryan used the sledgehammer to nudge the large pieces of concrete onto the floor, revealing a heavy wooden trapdoor covering the well.</p><p>“That fucking wood was absorbing every blow,” Ryan said, knocking more rubble out of the way. “No wonder it took so damn long.”</p><p>Shane brushed bits of concrete off the wooden cover, revealing two handles that were joined together with a padlocked iron chain.</p><p>“Yeah, fuck that,” Ryan said, setting the sledge hammer down beside the well. “I’m not gonna help you open up the rest of Pandora’s Box. Tell me you’re not going to try to get in there without first getting this place blessed by a priest or something.”</p><p>Shane tried not to roll his eyes, or at least he tried not to be too obvious about it. “It’s not evil. It’s just old. They probably locked it up to keep people from getting drinking water after it was contaminated or something.”</p><p>“With a padlock? That they then left on before pouring concrete?”</p><p>“Maybe they lost the key! I don’t know, man. It’s just a well.”</p><p>Ryan picked up his sweat-dampened shirt and mopped at his face and neck. “I’m going to go take a shower. And I know I probably won’t be able to stop you from trying to open that thing up while I’m upstairs. But if you do mess around with it, can you do me a favor?”</p><p>Shane watched as Ryan went over to the corner of the basement with piles of seasonal decorations and household equipment. After about a minute of digging he returned with a very long extension cord.</p><p>“I did this last year,” Ryan said, untangling the cord. “In that demon well location I told you about. And they did it in the Old Testament. You tie a rope around your waist and anchor it somewhere away from the well – so, like, that pillar over there. That way, if something pulls you into the well, you have a way to get out.”</p><p>“This is-” Shane started, but stopped when he saw the earnest concern in Ryan’s eyes.</p><p>Even when Shane was alive the majority of the faithful people he encountered only acted the way they did because it was what was expected of them. There were very very few who truly believed in what they said they did. And there were even fewer who would actually go out of their way to protect, rather than dismiss, a nonbeliever. What Shane saw from Ryan wasn’t evangelism – it was consideration. It was mutual respect.</p><p>“Alright,” Shane finished, taking the extension cord. He tied one end around a nearby support pillar and the other around his waist. The cord was quite long, but Ryan seemed satisfied. “I’m safe now.” </p><p>“Good,” Ryan said, giving the pillar’s end of the cord a solid tug to make sure it held. “Well, I’m gonna go upstairs and take a shower. And as much as I wish you won’t do this, I’ll be back down to check on you. You know, make sure that no demon’s trying to drag you down to Hell or anything.”</p><p>“Won’t that be exciting, though?”</p><p>Ryan wheezed a laugh and shook his head before turning around and heading back upstairs. Shane watched him leave, listening as his footsteps traveled through the first floor and disappeared up the flight of stairs to the second. It wasn’t until then that Shane went to the floor drain by the boiler and pulled off the metal grid. No more than a finger’s length under the cold, dark muck was a rusty iron key that he had hidden away decades ago.</p><p>“These things <em>should</em> last forever,” Shane muttered to himself as he brought the key to the padlock. “Let’s see if this falls apart.”</p><p>The muck and rust that clung to Shane’s fingers felt disgusting and smelled stale, but Shane tried to not get too caught up on it. If he really only did have until Ryan finished his shower, Shane wouldn’t have much time to futz with getting the grime off. He carefully put the key into the lock and turned, part of him genuinely shocked when he heard a click and felt the lock loosen in his hands. Heart racing, Shane pulled the lock open and untangled the chains holding the wooden doors shut. They were heavy and their hinges were stiff from the concrete, but with a little bit of effort Shane was able to lift the doors open, each falling with a definite <em>thunk</em> on either side of the well.</p><p>Shane looked down and saw a shadow of himself reflected in the distant, dark water. And although he had done it countless times during life, Shane very carefully lifted his leg over the side of the well. Muscle memory told Shane where his foot needed to go, but he still carefully slid the toe of his shoe along the wall until it sank deep into the first foothold.</p><p>Down and down he went, until the opening of the well and the white electric lamp made the basement above him look like a giant moon against a black sky. It wasn’t a very long trek down (the black and orange muck rubbing off after a few steps), but making the twenty foot journey made Shane think of how many times he had to scramble down the well as he heard the distant pounding on the front door. The panic that Shane remembered feeling made his heart beat faster until he reached the large, final step. To his right was a cluster of rocks that looked no different from any of the others that lined the well, except one was carved in such a way that he could grab it like a handle. A wall of rocks about seven feet high lurched away from their place in the well with a loud creak, revealing the old wooden door they had been attached to and opening into a small room.</p><p>Shane stepped into the room and faced the only thing in it – a heavy metal door covered in meticulously carved grooves and symbols. Stones and bits of sea glass were set into the door’s frame, a venerable magpie’s collection of odds and ends that Shane had gathered throughout his life. He ran his hand over the carvings in a slow, almost soothing, circle.</p><p>“I’m home,” he whispered. It was all he needed to do to make the door’s lock tumblers turn and click open.</p><p>Behind that door was what Shane had been needing to get to for over 150 years. It was a large room. Empty and one may have even called the space “vast.” However, Shane had filled as much of it as he could with his books and chemistry benches and display cases. Every few yards there was a candelabra, each candle still lit and just as tall as the day he made them. Shane moved towards the crown jewel of the place – his desk, which was still covered in notebooks, potions, and papers.</p><p>Shane stopped suddenly as he reached the absolute end of the straining extension cord. Hoping that Ryan wouldn’t pull on it without calling for him first, Shane untied himself and approached his desk. Scraps of his work from long ago lay open and organized for his future self. He gathered them all into a messy pile and set them aside.</p><p>The apothecary didn’t do this to him. After talking to Ryan he had convinced himself of that. It was back to basics now.</p><p>Shane sat down and opened a drawer, pulling out his journal. He had lost count of the number of times he had combed through the entire thing before his library was locked away from him. Perhaps all this time away would allow him to see it with new eyes. Or perhaps this was the time when he realized that what had happened to him was forever lost to history. Either way, he wanted to read it again.</p><p>Shane had gotten about a sentence into his earliest entry when he heard a dull thud behind him. He turned.</p><p>“Ryan?”</p><p>Nobody was there.</p><p>Slowly, Shane got to his feet and walked towards the source of the sound. There was a sort of rustling through the bookcase and Shane grabbed a geode from the nearest shelf, arming himself. Shane didn’t believe in ghosts and he didn’t believe in demons, but he knew that there was something powerful and mysterious out there that he didn’t understand. It was what had cursed him all those years ago. It was dangerous and it knew that Shane was looking for it.</p><p>A few books fell off the shelf and Shane flinched, turning away for a brief second. He looked back and…</p><p>“Obi!”</p><p>An orange cat stood on top of the fallen books, looking up at Shane with wide eyes. For a second it looked startled and confused, but then its face lifted with recognition and it mewed at him. The cat rushed to Shane’s feet and began climbing his long legs. Shane leaned down and scooped the cat into his arms, holding him close and scratching him behind the ears.</p><p>“Aren’t you a good little boy?” Shane praised, Obi purring loudly. “I thought you ran away with me. I thought you left the chamber and ran off into the woods. I looked for you for years. Little guy like you shouldn’t be out in the cold. I was so worried.”</p><p>Shane stopped babbling and buried his face in Obi’s fur, kissing him on the forehead. Obi squirmed to get comfortable in Shane’s arms for a moment before resting against his chest and slowly blinking up at him.</p><p>“But we’re both okay now,” Shane said, his voice cracking with relief. After all these years he had never expected to see his familiar again, but there he was. Shane kissed him on his head before carrying him to his desk and setting him down. “Are you going to help me with this, Obi?”</p><p>Obi lay down on top of Shane’s open journal and looked up at him expectantly.</p><p>To be honest, Shane had never been quite sure about what the function of a familiar was. He had heard that some spoke and some transformed into (albeit animal-like) people. They were supposed to deliver potions and act as spies, but that was nothing that the post carrier didn’t already do for a few coins. Familiars were to be the loyal assistant who was to aid their master in every aspect of witchcraft. Obi, Shane observed, was mostly just good at catching mice. And given the sheer volume of books and papers that Shane had in his private library, that was probably all he really needed Obi to do.</p><p>Shane pet Obi, scratching his neck and chin as the cat continued purring.</p><p>Familiars were also supposed to protect their masters, but Shane couldn’t fault Obi for not being able to rescue him from whoever, or whatever, cast this curse.</p><p>“We’ll get ‘em next time,” Shane said. “Won’t we, little fella?”</p><p>Shane watched as Obi’s ears twitched as he was pet, smiling to himself. It wasn’t until Shane heard a different thud behind him that he remembered that Ryan was only going to be gone for a few minutes before looking for him. Shane got to his feet just in time to see Ryan step out of the well and into the room. He stared at the books, at the rows and rows of little glass jars, at Obi, and finally at Shane. Then again, his eyes taking a slow sweep of the room.</p><p>“Holy shit.”</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Did you <em>know </em>this was down here?”</p><p>“I suspected <em>something </em>was,” Shane said, again finding himself in a position where he had to tell a convincing lie. “I mean, I heard of spaces like this existing, but I had no idea that it would actually be here.”</p><p>Ryan looked at the tall bookshelf full of texts on botany and basic chemistry. In Shane’s entire library there were maybe four traditional “witches’” tomes, the rest were all reference books and philosophical pamphlets. Shane was never that good at divination or anything more than a few basic enchantments that he used to make the puritans forget they saw him nailing his theses to the board. If he were better at being a traditional witch he probably would have been able to protect himself and he probably would have been able to come back from the spirit world more than once every fifty years. But there was nothing in those old witches’ tomes for Shane – nothing in there described what had happened to him.</p><p>“Did the cat come with the room?”</p><p>“Nah, Obi’s been around,” Shane said, lying for the second time in as many sentences. “He’s just shy so he hid when everyone was here. Otherwise, he likes following me.”</p><p>Ryan must have accepted that answer at face-value because he immediately returned to looking around. “This is amazing.”</p><p>“I need everyone to see this.” A third lie – one said as Shane struggled to hang onto the role of Xander House Historian.</p><p>To be honest, the last thing he could ever want was for people to come in and start poking around his library. Although he had existed for 380 years, Shane could only remember the anxiety that surrounded being found out for his thirty years of life. He used to have nightmares about the people from the town finding this room and burning all of his research. Although there were many texts there that had become widely acceptable or even laughably out of date, there was a certain quality about the place that Shane still didn’t like sharing with others. It was too personal, which meant that it was something that some people just didn’t understand. And, as Shane knew, when people don’t understand something, they tend to get angry. They tend to get destructive.</p><p>Ryan approached the desk and looked around, seeing the workbench and the shelves full of potion ingredients. “This is amazing.”</p><p>Shane didn’t say anything, instead he just watched Ryan examine the room.</p><p>“This is such a fantastic find, Shane. Everything’s so intact. Isn’t this amazing?”</p><p>Shane nodded in agreement, prompting Ryan to roll his eyes.</p><p>“A bit of emotion?” Ryan suggested, looking at Shane as he gestured at everything around them. “A bit more excitement? You were right! You found it! Isn’t this everything you were looking for?”</p><p>“Aaa!” Shane said in a faux ecstasy that Ryan immediately saw through. “Sorry,” he said normally, thinking on why he would appear so nonplussed by it all. “It still doesn’t feel real for me yet.”</p><p>“But it is!” Ryan stepped close to Shane and took him by his arms. “You found this, big guy.” He gave Shane a broad smile, which made Shane’s cheeks turn pink as he smiled in return. “I want to film this. Not to use for the show – what I capture will be all yours – but just to document this.”</p><p>Shane nodded unthinkingly, Ryan’s excitement infectious.</p><p>“Great! I’ll go get the handheld.” Ryan let go of Shane’s arms and rushed back to the door leading to the well. “Then you can tell me all about everything in here. Oh! Shane! Remember that séance I was supposed to do in the dining room? What if we did it down here? I know you’re not a believer but could you imagine? Doing an actual séance in the middle of a secret witch’s lair.”</p><p>The roiling enthusiasm in Ryan’s voice and the dancing way the light caught his eyes was such a far cry from how he was when he was listening for ghosts the night before. Shane knew that this dichotomy was just a glimpse into what Ryan truly felt about the supernatural. Admittedly, he didn’t entirely understand it, but Shane still admired it and saw shadows of himself move with Ryan. They both wanted answers – answers they feared and could never be ready for; answers they would never get but answers they needed.</p><p>“Would that be alright?” Ryan asked.</p><p>Shane nodded again, partially because he liked indulging Ryan and partially because he wanted to sit with him through another paranormal investigation. It was hard to explain why Shane liked that so much. When Ryan described the horrors that he felt it was like Shane was able to shift his perspective into an entirely new way of seeing the world. Although Shane remained grounded in his firm sense of reality, Ryan didn’t seem to mind. In fact, judging by how often Ryan looked to him whenever there was a creek or cool breeze in the house, Ryan seemed almost grateful that Shane didn’t get swept up in the narrative.</p><p>Obi hopped down from the desk as Ryan disappeared through the door and climbed back up the well. Shane glanced down at Obi and picked him up, Obi mewing as he was lifted far off the ground and into Shane’s arms.</p><p>“What did I even do this past hundred and fifty years?” Shane asked himself aloud and in a tone not unlike how one might wonder, “<em>What did I have for breakfast yesterday?</em>” He looked down at Obi, who he cradled like a baby. “First I just sort of watched people. Then I listened to the radio. Watched TV. What more was there to do? Waiting.”</p><p>Obi closed his eyes and squirmed around in Shane’s arms until he got comfortable, claws lightly digging into Shane’s shoulder.</p><p>“I don’t know if you can understand me, Obi. I mean, I always talked to you like you could. I’m sorry that I have to spend so long without a body, little fella. I missed holding you.”</p><p>Obi didn’t give any indication that he understood, but Shane kept talking anyways.</p><p>“I missed interacting, you know? I forgot what it was like to have someone hear me, and now all I want to do is say things that I think he’d like. I know what that sounds like, but it’s true. Is it so wrong to feel like that? When it’s been so long? I’ve known him for a day but I don’t want to forget this.”</p><p>Shane walked to the door leading out to the well, leaning against the cold wall as he waited for Ryan to appear above him. As he waited he considered what he would do in the day and a half before his time was up. He had considered finding a way to end his existence, but Shane had to admit that, as a disembodied spirit, he didn’t know how. Besides, that didn’t feel quite right anymore. Shane could only suppose that it was because that he had forgotten what living was like. Perhaps it was his physical mind’s self-defense at the prospect of existing for 380 years, but Shane was already starting to forget what life was like as a spirit. His memories were like an overflowing bucket, the excess spilling away and some seeping out from between the cracks.</p><p>When Ryan appeared at the top of the well Shane put Obi down and helped him with his backpack full of spiritual and electric equipment. Even though what they were doing brought Shane’s investigation to a screeching halt, Shane actually found himself excited for what Ryan wanted to do. While Ryan set up the camera Shane sorted through Ryan’s séance kit. It was a far cry from the elaborate runes that Shane had attempted to divinate with in life, but Shane wasn’t about to criticize. It’s not like he was much good at it himself.</p><p>“Shane?” Ryan called, handheld camera at his side. “Are you ready?”</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tour of the Xander library couldn’t be too detailed, but it also couldn’t be too simple. Shane explained what kinds of books were on the shelves and he “speculated” about what could be in the dozens of small jars filled with colored powder. He was patient as he listened to Ryan’s hypotheses regarding what kind of witchcraft Xander practiced. From Ryan’s theories came the story of a man frustrated with his own time period and who placed curses on everyone in power. As inaccurate as Ryan’s description was, Shane thought that the person Ryan described was much closer to what Shane wanted Xander to be as opposed to who he actually was. The only fire and brimstone that Xander brought forth was in his writings to the church, nothing more. When he wasn’t writing scathing letters to be posted in the town square, he was making balms and tonics that were marginally more effective than what was available at the apothecary. He also provided general advice to anyone who took the risk of sending him letters. The advice he gave was quite general – “talk to them,” “take care of yourself,” “you’re allowed to be upset” – and everything was accompanied by a simple ritual and sigil. To be honest, the rituals weren’t magic, they were just meditation instructions.</p><p>Shane didn’t know if that meant he was bad at being a witch or if that’s all witches ever really could be.</p><p>The tour ended with Shane making up a social and cultural significance of there being a mummified sandhill crane beside Xander’s desk. As with much of Xander’s life, the real story wasn’t as interesting as the things that lay just within reach of the imagination. (The real story is that Shane just thought sandhill cranes looked nice, so he tried to preserve one.)</p><p>“Well,” Ryan said as he closed his camera. “There we go. First people to walk into this room since 1670. That alone is fuckin’ amazing, I think.”</p><p>Shane nodded, his eyes drawn back to the desk and his old journal. He knew he had to pace himself with Ryan right there, but he still wanted to get back to work.</p><p>“What if this is the crime scene?” Shane asked. “What if this was the very spot that Xander disappeared from?”</p><p>Ryan glanced around as if he were looking for any obvious signs of a struggle that they had overlooked until that moment. “So… who are you thinking did it?”</p><p>Shane shrugged and leaned against the desk. “I just know who didn’t do it. It wasn’t Haltman because why wouldn’t he raid the apothecary supplies? And it wasn’t Underhill because why would he let his place go intact?”</p><p>“On the other hand,” Ryan offered, “If Haltman was a religious man then he may not have wanted a witch’s supplies. And I don’t think that Underhill was doing his own dirty work, he definitely had someone else take care of Xander. If Underhill really did die two days after finding letters upstairs, then I think it’s reasonable for his followers to think this place was cursed. I wouldn’t want to try to burn down a cursed place.”</p><p>“Or it could be other witches.”</p><p>“You do like that theory.”</p><p>“Xander had contact with people in town,” Shane said. “What he did as a witch was supposed to be anonymous, but if even just one of the townspeople found out who he was then he could have been in real danger.”</p><p>“And if that person were a witch,” Ryan said, “then he may not have known how to deal with them. He may have been imposing to the non-witches; the muggles, if you will. But once he has to go up against another witch then – uh oh – it’s Avada Kedavra time.”</p><p>“I don’t know what half of that means but I think I get the point.”</p><p>“It means that he’d be in over his head. C’mon, man, haven’t you ever read <em>Harry Potter</em>?”</p><p>Shane looked back down at his journal, wondering if Ryan would say anything if he began leafing through it. Ryan had been so careful and respectful of every single thing in the private library – so much so that Shane felt that even lightly touching the heavy wooden furniture would be beyond the bounds of “politeness.” Shane tried to think of something to say that would get him a while alone with the journal when his stomach gurgled.</p><p>“Oh! I told you that I would make you lunch,” Ryan said, “I’ll get right on that. And I’ll call down here when the food’s ready.”</p><p>Shane heard a familiar thump behind him and Obi jumped down from the bookshelf he was resting on, walking over to the two men and looking up at them expectantly. Technically, familiars never needed food, but that never seemed to stop Obi from indulging when he could.</p><p>Ryan looked down at the cat. “This is because I said ‘food’, isn’t it? Of course it is.” He looked up at Shane. “Should I find him something from the pantry? A little bit of canned fish?”</p><p>“Oh, I think he’ll like that,” Shane said, walking Ryan to the one door in and out of the room. “Just put him on your shoulder and he’ll go up with you. He’s a shoulder cat.”</p><p>“A-alright,” Ryan said, reaching down to pick Obi up, only for him to climb up Ryan’s arms and perch on his neck. “I should tell you now, though, I am a little allergic. So if you see me sneezing with watery eyes later, that’s what’s going on.” He winced as Obi dug his claws into his shoulders.</p><p>Shane stayed close as Ryan lined up with the well’s footholds before climbing up. He pet Obi one last time before Ryan carried him up and out of the well. Finally alone and with nobody to question or interrupt his research, Shane returned to his desk and sat down, opening the journal to its first entry.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>The Fyftenth of November, 1668</em>
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  <p>
    <em>Two lettres arryved bye poſt, one requeſte-ing potions for nauſea and th’ other a love ſpell. Bothe ſhould be compleated by the Feaſt of Andrew. In my next treatiſe to Underhill I…</em>
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</blockquote><p>Shane sighed and rubbed his face in his hands, his mind unable to focus on what he needed to do so desperately. Something else fogged his thoughts and, unable to concentrate, Shane got to his feet. He picked up a round-bottom flask from its resting place above a small burner and began looking over his large collection of potion ingredients. Although he had the equipment to do many complex things, Shane wasn’t looking for anything too elaborate.</p><p>Just something for watery eyes and a sneeze.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The potion was barely completed in time, but still Shane was able to carry it to the kitchen when Ryan called Shane up. As Shane walked in, Ryan was attempting to spoon a small pile of canned tuna onto a tea saucer as Obi repeatedly tried to stick his face in the nearly-full can. Shane smiled as he watched them, a complex dance of hands and fur on the counter.</p><p>“I hope you like cream of mushroom soup,” Ryan said, giving Shane a quick glance over his shoulder before returning to his task. “Again, it’s nothing fancy, but it’s something.”</p><p>“I’m glad to see you and Obi are getting along.” Shane looked at the stovetop and saw two large bowls of soup and an unopened box of crackers beside it. “I’ll bring this to the dining room?”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>Shane left the kitchen with his and Ryan’s lunch, temporarily leaving Ryan with Obi’s frustrated mewing. Alone in the dining room, Shane quickly emptied the vial of his concoction into Ryan’s soup and gave it a quick stir. He wasn’t proud of himself – Shane hated thinking about the possibility that some of the potions he sold were used on other people without their consent. However, he knew he couldn’t tell Ryan what he had made in the Xander library. So he mixed the potion, hoping that Ryan didn’t think it was too bitter.</p><p>There was a sneeze, the soft clack of a dish against the floor come from the kitchen, and Obi’s mewing suddenly stopped. Shane quickly sat down in front of the untouched soup and looked up as Ryan came in, his eyes slightly red and a little glassy.</p><p>“Is your cat always like that around food or was that just for my benefit?”</p><p>“As long as I can remember,” Shane said, stirring his soup.</p><p>“Little weirdo,” Ryan mumbled, although not cruelly. He opened the box of crackers and crumbled a few into his soup. “I’ll call Devon again. I mean, it’s still coming down and the forecast is predicting that it’s not going to stop until tonight.”</p><p>“So we’ll have another night here?”</p><p>“I mean, that’s how it’s looking. Maybe we’ll get a break and someone will send a plow out here, but I doubt it. I don’t think I’d want any of them to be driving in this weather anyways.”</p><p>Shane watched as Ryan ate a spoonful of soup, checked the expiration date on the crackers, and then ate another spoonful.  </p><p>“And we’ll be late in filming the next location,” Ryan said. “I hope I don’t have to make a filler episode. What would it even be on?”</p><p>Shane stirred his soup in thought. “I mean, there are always legends about people on the side of the road, right? Trying to get a lift late at night.”</p><p>“I suppose,” Ryan said. “Oh god, would that mean I would have to drive through the country looking for hitchhikers? That sounds like either the behavior of a serial killer or the behavior of someone who is going to get serial killed.”</p><p>“It’ll be a fun little experiment. House ghosts may not be real, but roadside ghosts… that just might be another story.”</p><p>Ryan wheezed a laugh. “Oh, so you’re going to make me explore every kind of location-based ghost? Are cornfield ghosts next?”</p><p>“Sure, why not? You can’t just put all your eggs into the house ghost basket.”</p><p>“I’ll have you know that I also looked into former prison ghosts and ship ghosts.”</p><p>“Did you prove them there?”</p><p>Ryan was quiet for a few seconds before he grinned and mumbled, “Shut up, Shane,” into his soup.</p><p>Shane smiled at that and started to eat. He was a few spoonfuls in when Obi walked out of the kitchen and climbed onto the chair at the end of the dining room table. From there, Obi watched them for a bit before lying down, tail curled around him.</p><p>After a little while, Shane spoke up. “I’m going to ask you a question and I hope you don’t take it the wrong way.”</p><p>“Oh no.”</p><p>“Do you… you know… actually believe in all of this stuff?”</p><p>“Do you think I was faking it? I got, like, zero sleep last night because I was waiting for a shadow creature to come in and terrify me.”</p><p>“No, I didn’t mean spirits or demons. I mean… do you believe in <em>all</em> of it. Every monster out there that someone gave a name to.”</p><p>“I like giving people the benefit of the doubt,” Ryan said between spoons. “But I don’t believe in everything. I don’t believe in Bigfoot. I don’t believe in Slenderman. One of my coworkers has an elaborate story about how his apartment is haunted and I think he’s full of shit.”</p><p>“What about witches?”</p><p>Ryan hesitated. “I… believe that Xander thought he was a witch.”</p><p>“But when it comes to actually believing in them?”</p><p>Ryan leaned back in his chair in thought, looking up at the chandelier. “I don’t… acknowledge witchcraft because then I would need to acknowledge where the witch’s powers come from. The common belief was that they were given by the devil. Does this then make witches similar to demons? I’m alright with wanting to send demons back to Hell because they’re demons. But if I extended that to witches… then… I’m extending that wish to a human being. It doesn’t sit right with me. If I did that then I would be no better than the prosecutors of the Salem witch trials – I would be no better than Underhill.”</p><p>“You’re already better than Underhill. I’m sure he never put this much thought into it.”</p><p>Ryan smiled at that and Shane immediately turned his attention to his food, hoping that Ryan couldn’t see the blush he felt tingle across his face. It had been over a day – why was the most basic interaction still having this effect on him? Was he really so starved for company that casual conversation was too much? What would he be like when he’s left alone again? After so long Shane had grown used to solitude, but the thought of returning to it was maddening.</p><p>Shane pushed thoughts of his loneliness aside as he tried to focus on what he needed to do now. He needed to try to find old witch texts – things that perhaps Ryan might be able to look up on his phone. It’s not like what he needed would be at the town’s library anyways. The books he needed were the ones his private library was wanting – books on witchcraft. Books written by genuine witches of his era. He needed advice from someone who could cast spells that are a little more sophisticated than “open door” and “make the guard forget he saw me.” Even though the spell Shane cast to come back to life was quite advanced, it took him forever to learn and he wasn’t even sure if he was that good at it.</p><p>Shane was positive that if he were better at that kind of magic then he simply would have shut off the part of his human brain that made him want to do nothing but pet Obi and talk to Ryan until the third dawn.</p><p>Not wanting to focus on anything other than his work, Shane spoke up, breaking the several minutes of comfortable silence where Ryan watched the weather radar on his phone while Shane had a small existential crisis. “What would you do if you met a witch?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“If you met a witch,” Shane repeated. “What would you do? What would you say?”</p><p>“‘Nice hat.’”</p><p>“I’m serious.”</p><p>“What would <em>you</em> say?” Ryan asked, turning off his phone and watching Shane expectantly. “If you met a real witch?”</p><p>Shane worried his lip and stirred what was left of his soup. “I dunno. I would probably ask how they got into witchcraft, you know? If they had a calling or if it was just always there.”</p><p>Ryan tilted his head from side to side, letting the answer marinate for a bit. “I suppose that makes sense.”</p><p>“What would you ask?”</p><p>Ryan hummed thoughtfully before answering, “I would ask what they’ve been doing with their magic, I guess. I mean, I know there have been plenty of times when it felt like the world was ending, but if I were to speak to a witch who was around today… I would ask them why they couldn’t do anything to stop it. Or maybe they’re doing magic all the time and I just don’t know. Maybe they’re stopping nuclear war all the time and we just don’t know about it. I don’t know. I don’t think that’s what’s happening. I just think…” Ryan sighed. “If a witch were around today I would just want them to do something that would make things better. Just a little bit and just for a little while… I would ask them if they could make things better.”</p><p>Ryan finished his soup and set his bowl aside, the movement on the table made Obi look up. He leaned over, scratching Obi behind the ears.</p><p>Ryan’s eyes were no longer red.</p><p>“Well,” Ryan said, “Not to cut this short, but I told Devon I’d call her back. I still want to do that séance, but we should wait until after sunset. I don’t think it really makes sense to do it before.”</p><p>Shane agreed and Ryan got up, phone in hand. He pet Obi again on his way out, disappearing into the parlor.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>The threttieth of ſeptembre, 1669</em>
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    <em>Although my feavour has broken two days agoe the cough perſists and I cannot ſleep the entire night throughout. I have aſsured my ſtudents that the cough is due to the duſt that hangs in the aire of our claſsroom. This has beene enough to quell their concerns, but my condition has focuſed my reſearch. I have been reſiſtant to conventional methods and ſhall conſult alternative texts.</em>
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</blockquote><p>There was a rustle from the well and Shane set his journal aside. There weren’t many months left in it and he supposed he needed a break. He had been reading his journal looking for a suggestion of other witches that he may have encountered. At the moment he was suspecting that perhaps one of his students may have had something to do with it, but there was nothing that he could back it up with.</p><p>He draped one of the journal’s ribbons across the page and closed the book, leaning back with a resigned sigh. It had been a while since he had read the description of his early battle with what would come to be known as tuberculosis. What he had read was still a few months before that horrible day when he staggered out of the classroom in early winter, barely able to breathe and choking on his own blood. The red that spilled from his lips and onto the snow looked black in the moonlight and Shane had thrown himself on top of the spattering before any of his curious students could run out and see what had happened.</p><p>As reluctant as he was to accept it, it was entirely possible that what had happened to him was just what happened to all witches after they died. They were all doomed to wander their properties and watch the living.</p><p>“I’m not interrupting?” Ryan asked from the doorway.</p><p>“Not at all.” Shane got to his feet.</p><p>He would get back to reading his own journal after this. That is, unless Ryan gets so riled up that he refuses to go to sleep. But then, they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it. Shane had already made a sleeping draught for Ryan – although, like the concoction he made to treat his allergy symptoms, the potion would be something Shane would have to give covertly. Shane didn’t like thinking of himself as the sort of witch who just drugs people into submission. However, he was pleased to see that Ryan didn’t seem sneezy or watery-eyed at all, even though the traces of cat hair suggested that he spent a few hours with Obi on his lap.</p><p>“No Obi?” Shane asked.</p><p>“No. He played with my hoodie drawstrings until he got all tuckered out. Now he’s up in the bedroom, asleep in the middle of the bed.” Ryan looked past Shane to the desk. “Learning anything interesting?”</p><p>“It’s a lot to take in.”</p><p>Ryan nodded, swaying with a slightly unbalanced rhythm as he looked around the room. “I won’t do this if you think it’s disrespectful, I know I should have asked you earlier, but are you up for a séance in here?”</p><p>Shane arched his brows, realizing that he had been so absorbed in his own work that he lost track of the day. “What time is it?”</p><p>Ryan took out his phone. “12:05.” He pocketed it again. “Should I have come down earlier?”</p><p>“No, no. This is fine,” Shane said, although he was a little shaken at how quickly the day had gotten away from him. “What do we need?”</p><p>Ryan picked up the backpack that he had left down in the library earlier and began taking things out and setting them down on the floor. A voice recorder. A small bag of goldfish crackers. Three candles. A lighter. Four large triangles made out of iron rods. A chunk of quartz tied onto a necklace chain. The last thing out of the bag was a round board with the alphabet printed in a circle that reached the very edge.</p><p>“This is how you talk to ghosts?” Shane asked as he sat down on the floor with Ryan.</p><p>“This is how I will <em>attempt</em> to <em>communicate </em>with spirits, yes,” Ryan said, fitting the triangles together to form a pyramid. “I’ve tried a few different ways. And this is what I’m trying now.”</p><p>Shane watched as Ryan set the board on the bottom of the pyramid and carefully dangled the quartz from the top of the scaffold. Mediumship and divination weren’t Shane’s strong points, but he had to say that he was impressed – although he would never admit that to Ryan. It did have a few modern alterations, but Shane was struck at how much Ryan’s setup reminded him of the massive dactylomancy tables he saw in New Amsterdam. He remembered seeing other witches there when he was 15, still too uncertain with his own abilities to join them as they dangled tarnished silver rings over the board by a thin thread. They were all so certain of their abilities, and rightfully so. Their divinations came true so often that Shane wasn’t sure if they were predicting or creating the future.</p><p>“We need to offer food,” Ryan said, opening up the bag of goldfish crackers. “So the spirits know we’re welcoming. We need to light three candles. I know there are a lot of candles down here but I’m gonna use mine just because that’s what I brought them for.”</p><p>Shane nodded, scooting closer to the board as Ryan lit the candles one by one.</p><p>“Are you ready?”</p><p>Glancing at everything arranged on the floor between them Shane asked, “No spirit box this time?”</p><p>Ryan smiled and shook his head. “No spirit box. I know you hate the thing. Besides, I doubt that any radio station could get through to us down here. Then what would the spirits be able to manipulate to talk to us?”</p><p>“Ah, obviously.”</p><p>“It makes sense!”</p><p>Shane chuckled. “Alright, alright.”</p><p>Ryan switched on the voice recorder and put his hands on either side of the board. “Left palm up, right palm down.”</p><p>Shane followed suit, holding his hands out in front of him.</p><p>“No. I mean…”</p><p>Ryan reached out and took Shane’s right hand in his, fingers resting against Shane’s palm while Ryan’s thumb lightly rubbed over his knuckles. Ryan’s hand was warm and calloused – a sharp contrast to Shane’s hands, which, aside from the rough spot made from years of writing, were unusually soft. Again, Shane was made acutely aware of how long it had been since he had made any physical contact with another person. Shane tried to match the slight pressure of Ryan’s grip, but a fear of clinging to hard too quickly instead just made Shane’s palms sweaty. Nevertheless, he did manage to reach out and take Ryan’s other hand in his.</p><p>“Ready?” Ryan asked.</p><p>Shane nodded.</p><p>“Spirits of this room,” Ryan addressed, looking up at the tall bookcases and shelves of potion ingredients. “I’m Ryan. This is Shane. We are looking to open a line of communication. We are welcoming and have nothing but good intentions.”</p><p>“Yes,” Shane added.</p><p>“We, erm,” Ryan paused, wheezing softly; clearly caught off guard by Shane’s participation. “We have some food set out for you. Maybe you would appreciate it. Some savory little goldfish crackers.”</p><p>“They’re ‘flavor blasted.’”</p><p>Ryan shook his head with a smile. “We have this pendulum and letter chart that you can use to communicate with us. You can move it around. Like… erm…” Ryan let go of one of Shane’s hands so he could move the quartz pendulum around over the board. “We got the entire alphabet here. We’re going to ask you some questions in a little bit and if you don’t want to write out your entire response you can do ‘Y’ for ‘yes’ and ‘N’ for ‘no.’ How about that? If we’re talking to Xander, I know you wrote a lot during life. It would be understandable if you’re on a bit of a writing break right now. Or if you wanna write out another of your letters you can do that too.”</p><p>“Whatever you want to write, you can,” Shane said.</p><p>“That’s right. This is a safe space. We’ll let you start by writing whatever you want.” Ryan carefully let go of the pendulum and took Shane’s hands again. “And now we’re going to be quiet and give you some time to speak or write. You can tug on our clothes. Whatever you need to do to communicate.”</p><p>The two of them sat still with their hands joined, listening to the silent room and watching the motionless pendulum. Shane fully intended on playing along and listening to the sounds of the house settling, but the séance was incredibly difficult for him to focus on. Ryan’s hands were warm and strong, a reprieve from the decades that Shane had spent existing without a corporeal form. He knew that, if he were to continue his pattern of coming to life every fifty years, it would take centuries before someone like Ryan would appear again. It would take lifetimes before anyone would hold him like this; if people even had that many more lifetimes left on this planet.</p><p>Unthinkingly, Shane tightened his grasp on Ryan’s hands until the steady pressure was just enough to pull Ryan from his meditative trance. His eyes focused back on Shane and he looked down at their joined hands. Ryan was relatively easy to read and it was clear that he was just made acutely aware that the two of them had been holding hands in the silent candlelight for the past ten minutes.</p><p>“You know,” Ryan said with a clear of his throat. “Maybe Xander needs a little bit of help. Should we put our hands over the pendulum and maybe he could focus his energy that way?”</p><p>“Oh, sure.”</p><p>Shane let go of Ryan and put his hand at the very top of the pyramid, the chain the quartz pendulum hung from only a breadth away from his fingertips. Ryan hesitated before resting his hand over the back of Shane’s. When the two of them made eye-contact he shrugged.</p><p>“I’ve never used this before,” Ryan said. “I’m not entirely sure how it works.”</p><p>“I like it so far,” Shane said. “You know, there’s something to be said about just sitting quietly in a dark, candlelit room. It’s nice.”</p><p>“I think it’s kinda creepy. You know, I usually ask more questions with this sort of thing but with Xander I just kinda assumed that he knows how it works and would start writing.”</p><p>“Maybe he has writer’s block.”</p><p>“I should ask him questions,” Ryan said. “Otherwise this would just be us sitting on the floor and holding hands.”</p><p>“That’s okay.”</p><p>Ryan wheezed, turning his face away to partially hide his expression against his shoulder. “I swear, I’m not just using a séance as an excuse for us to hold hands. I’ve never done that.”</p><p>“I bet that’s how they started though. Somebody just turning to the cute person next to them, saying, ‘Wanna talk to a dead fella? Well you know what we need to do?’”</p><p>“That’s how it starts. A couple of séances and next thing you know…”</p><p>“Smoochin’.”</p><p>Ryan laughed, Shane able to feel the pulse of his laughter through his hands. The corners of his eyes creased, his cheeks lifted and tinted pink, and Shane marveled at him. He knew that attraction for someone in his position was absurd. After all, in less than 30 hours Shane would surrender his borrowed time and become a formless spirit once again. There was no chance of Shane ever being able to get in contact with Ryan again and Shane knew that, most likely, he would spend his too-long existence wondering about Ryan and what became of him. But, in a way, Shane preferred that to the alternative: Ryan returning every year and Shane unable to hold his hand again until Ryan was an old man… and then never again.</p><p>“Alright,” Ryan said, focusing on the board. “Spirits. If you are there, please tell us your name by manipulating the pendulum.”</p><p>A passing fancy was something that Shane could handle. In truth, Shane knew that he shouldn’t be indulging any part of this. But yet there was something exciting about the way Ryan’s smile could make his heart race. This was the sort of thing that is separate from Shane when he is an incorporeal spirit and what he missed about being human. Emotions feel so much larger when they’re paired with internal chemistry and the social niceties that keep people from constantly bubbling over with them.</p><p>Ryan glanced up at the ceiling, as if he were looking for something lingering in the air. “This room has been here a long time. Have you been stuck in here since 1670?”</p><p>So, despite the bombardment of affection that swirled through Shane’s mind and heart, he held still. He resisted the urge to caress Ryan’s fingertips. He resisted the urge to lean across the board and give him a quick, chaste kiss to the cheek. He resisted the urge to whisper, even under his breath, so instead he thought the words he wanted to say. He thought them in a way so their meaning pealed through his mind like a church bell.</p><p>Ryan cleared his throat. “Is there anything you would like to tell us?”</p><p>
  <em>Why is he so damnably beautiful?</em>
</p><p>The thought had no sooner finished forming in Shane’s head when the pendulum swung hard to the side, a right angle to where it was. The quartz flew out of its cradle and went shooting across the room, falling with a clatter near the open door.</p><p>Shane glanced up at Ryan and saw that any semblance of excitement and anticipation seemed to have been replaced in an instant by dread.</p><p>“Oops. Sorry,” Shane said.</p><p>“‘Sorry’?!”</p><p>“I just wanted to spin it around. I didn’t mean to send it flying.”</p><p>“You piece of shit, Shane!”</p><p>"I honestly didn't think it would do that." Shane got to his feet. "I don't think it broke at least."</p><p>"You almost scared me to death."</p><p>Shane walked over and picked the quartz off the ground, relieved to see that there wasn't a scratch on it. He lied when he said that he was responsible for that. Of course he didn't so much as touch the pendulum chain, but he wasn't about to tell Ryan that. Shane thought about how much he had to focus just to lift a branch or a key when he was incorporeal. He considered the force it must have taken to rip the crystal from its cradle and throw it across the room.</p><p>There was a part of Shane that was terrified. It was the part of him that knew that something powerful had cursed him to be like this and that whatever it was could definitely hurt him again; or worse, it could hurt Ryan or Obi. He was justifiably very afraid. However, he knew that being afraid would do nothing to help and would probably make things significantly worse if not more complicated. So, unlike the attracted draw he felt towards Ryan, Shane quieted the fearful part of himself and shoved it into the back of his mind.</p><p>Shane returned to Ryan and carefully laced the quartz back into place at the end of its chain.</p><p>“You’re an asshole,” Ryan said. “I hope you’re fucking proud of yourself.”</p><p>Although Ryan sounded stern, when Shane looked up he was smiling. Ryan perched one hand on the top of the iron pyramid and held out the other, waiting for Shane to take it again.</p><p>“Wanna try that again, big guy?”</p><p>“Alright.” Shane got comfortable on the floor again and took Ryan’s hands, lightly resting his palm over the one holding the top of the pyramid. “Should we start from the beginning?”</p><p>“We can start from the questions, I think,” Ryan said. “We already introduced ourselves.”</p><p>Shane nodded.</p><p>“Spirits of this room,” Ryan said, glancing around to address nothing in particular and seemingly unaware of the very present unseen entity that had flung the crystal across the room not one minute ago. “First of all, is there anyone here?”</p><p>The quartz was still. However, just as Ryan opened his mouth to ask the next question, it began to sway. It moved in a slow, lazy circle, no more than a fraction of an inch in diameter. Then it moved in an ellipse and finally a line. Again, the range of motion of the crystal was hardly significant or definite, but it did draw a clear line.</p><p>“‘Y,’” Ryan read. “Yes.”</p><p>Shane watched the pendulum swing. “It could be ‘L,’” he offered. “It’s swinging towards both.”</p><p>The pendulum slowed its pace and came to a stop, hanging straight down from the top of the pyramid.</p><p>“Well, I think that was ‘yes,’” Ryan said.</p><p>“I think it’s coincidence.”</p><p>Ryan gave Shane an incredulous look and looked up to the room to ask another question. “Are you the witch Xander?”</p><p>Again, the pendulum very slowly began to move, spinning in a circle that was so imperceptible that it looked like it was only being lightly turned by a wind. This time it spun a little longer before swinging.</p><p>“‘N’,” Ryan announced. “That’s a 'no.' I guess this isn’t Xander.”</p><p>“Again, could be ‘A’.”</p><p>Ryan laughed. "I don't know how you're so nonplussed by this. We're getting pretty consistent answers. Isn't this alarming to you?"</p><p>Shane shrugged. "Not really. I mean, pressure on the frame… And it's not like there's a huge difference between Y/L and N/A. That's only a change in, what? Five degrees?"</p><p>"Unbelievable."</p><p>As they spoke the pendulum kept swinging. <strong>N. A. N. A.</strong></p><p>"Why are you here?" Ryan asked the piece of quartz.</p><p>"I think that may be a bit too… sophisticated with what we're working with here."</p><p>"You're not Xander, but are you a witch?"</p><p>
  <strong>L. Y. L. Y. L.</strong>
</p><p>"Holy shit, Shane."</p><p>Shane laughed. "He's playing a little trick on us, it seems."</p><p>"You really think this is nothing?!"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"I think that… holy SHIT. Holy shit." Ryan turned away, hiding his face in his shoulder. "We're going to sleep here! We can't leave this house!"</p><p>"Hey, hey… it's alright." Shane tightened his grip on Ryan’s hands. "You know, I'm sure there's a logical explanation for this."</p><p>Ryan squeezed his eyes closed and tilted his head back until it hit the bookcase behind him with a soft <em>thunk</em>. "I hate this. I hate this. Why do I get myself into these situations?"</p><p>"You're alright, Ryan," Shane said. "You're gonna be alright."</p><p>"Fuck."</p><p>Not wanting to squeeze Ryan's hand too hard, Shane's grip softened and he gently rubbed his thumb over Ryan's fingertips. Although he wasn't sure, he got the feeling that Ryan was waiting for Shane's permission to pull the plug on the séance. He glanced down to make sure that the pendulum had stopped before suggesting they stop. But as soon as he did he saw it swinging even harder than it had before. It was no longer lazily swaying, but rather pointing, direct and definite, at the letters on the board.</p><p>
  <strong>G. O. L. E. T. G. O. L. E. T.</strong>
</p><p>Shane looked up at Ryan, who still had his eyes closed and his head tilted back. Careful to work quickly, Shane let go of Ryan’s hands and took the quartz from its cradle, the chain falling limp as soon as the crystal was removed.</p><p>“I think that’s enough of that,” Shane said, setting the quartz down on the board.</p><p>Ryan sighed in relief, finally dropping his head and drawing his hands back. “Fuck that.”</p><p>“You did very well.”</p><p>“Oh fuck that.” Ryan rubbed at his eyes while Shane disassembled the frame pyramid. “And I’m staying here tonight! I don’t have a choice! I’m going to go another night without getting a solitary minute of sleep. Fuck, I’m so tired.”</p><p>Shane shook his head with a smile. “If you want me to stay up there with you I can. I know you’re anxious, so I could keep watch if you would like.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>Ryan’s wide eyes and furrowed brow told Shane all he needed. Ryan was in no state to be left alone for any significant period of time in this house.</p><p>“Of course,” Shane said.</p><p>Ryan opened his mouth to respond, but as soon as he did there was, above them, what sounded like an iron pot being thrown at the floor crossed with something not unlike a gunshot except much, much louder. The glass containers of the potion display rattled against each other and every book shifted on their shelves, knocking dust down onto Ryan.</p><p>The two men looked up at the ceiling, as if the source of the sound was dangling just above them. Not seeing anything, Shane turned his attention back to Ryan. His eyes were still wide and they had started to water. Shane handed Ryan the four triangular segments of the pyramid frame, making Ryan startle for a brief second as soon as the metal touched his hands.</p><p>“I’ll go check it out,” Shane said, getting to his feet.</p><p>“Don’t leave me here!”</p><p>“Alright, you can stand by the well door and I’ll tell you if it’s okay to come back up.”</p><p>“Fuck, what if that was the stairs? What if we’re trapped down here?”</p><p>“Well, let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” Shane said, helping Ryan gather up his things into is backpack. “I’ll take a quick look and then call you up.</p><p>Ryan nodded and Shane returned to the well and started climbing. He had plenty of time to try to figure out what they had encountered after he had left his corporeal form. For right now, his top priority was making sure that Ryan was safe and didn’t get too suspicious.</p><p>Shane got to the top of the well and he felt his stomach knot in dread. The basement looked like a bomb had gone off, with pieces of metal shrapnel embedded in the walls and the carefully stacked storage boxes knocked to the ground and torn open. Water was everywhere and Shane’s eyes followed the path of destruction to the twisted remains of the boiler tank. It had burst along its side, a massive gash that looked like it was made by taking an axe to it from the inside-out.</p><p>Shane climbed out of the well and called Ryan up, stopping to survey the damage. Although there wasn’t much space to work with, Shane tried to get as many boxes as he could to dry ground. Even though the house had changed significantly over the years, Shane felt indebted to whatever homeowner still took care of it after all this time and made sure it was still standing.</p><p>“Oh shit,” Ryan muttered as he lifted himself out of the well.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Well,” Ryan sighed, helping Shane collect what was left of the broken boxes, “At least it failed like that. You hear stories of boilers failing at the bottom and leveling the house. This looks like it only damaged the basement. Which, I know, is a lot. But… fuck.” Ryan hesitated before repeating, “Fuck. Fuck!”</p><p>“Why are you saying ‘fuck’? It’s not that bad.”</p><p>“No, man, remember how we were doing a séance just a minute ago and in the middle of it the fucking boiler explodes?”</p><p>“It was just a coincidence.”</p><p>“Stop saying that! You know I don’t believe in coincidence!”</p><p>Shane stopped gathering Fourth of July decorations and turned to look at Ryan, who was staring at him with glassy eyes next to the steps.</p><p>“There’s something in this house,” Ryan said. “I know there’s something in this house. And it wants us out.”</p><p>“Okay, alright,” Shane said, his voice measured and patient. “You know what? I think that’s everything out of the water. It’ll take a while for this to dry off, but we’re not going to worry about it right now. Right now let’s just… get back upstairs. We’ll figure out what to do from there.”</p><p>Ryan didn’t need to be told twice as he immediately started up the steps. But as quickly as he moved, he lingered at the door, waiting for Shane to follow him up.</p><p>“I’m not sleeping upstairs tonight,” Ryan said, no room for negotiation in his tone. “That’s not happening. I’m probably not going to sleep anywhere, but especially not up there.”</p><p>“You don’t have to,” Shane said as he opened the door for them.</p><p>As the two stepped into the kitchen Shane was struck by how cold it was. The basement was hardly warm, but it was stuffy and the air was still. Up here Shane could feel the freezing air emanating from the many, old windows. The house was drafty, the sound of the blizzard outside enhancing the chill in the air. It wasn’t until Shane’s eyes fell on the radiator that he recognized the significance of the boiler explosion. Ryan must have realized something similar at the same time, as he immediately reached out and touched the radiator.</p><p>“Oh god,” Ryan said. “We’re gonna freeze. It’s already starting to cool off.”</p><p>“We’re not going to freeze,” Shane assured him. “This is what we’re going to do. You’re going to go put on something warm and then bring all the blankets and sheets down to the parlor. There’s a fireplace in there, I’ll get that started. You and I are going to sleep in the parlor tonight. We’re not going to freeze, I promise.”</p><p>Ryan nodded but didn’t move away from the radiator.</p><p>“Would you like a drink when you come back down?”</p><p>Ryan nodded again.</p><p>“Alright, I’ll have a beer waiting for you. Go get your things and the blankets while I set things up. It shouldn’t take too long.”</p><p>There was a moment of hesitation before Ryan disappeared out the kitchen door and down the hall. Shane held still, listening for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. As soon as he heard them, he opened the refrigerator, took out a beer, opened it, and poured in the sleeping draught. He knew he shouldn’t drug Ryan like this, but after what Shane had seen in the cellar perhaps it was for the best. Shane didn’t want to think about how much damage that… whatever-it-was could do to Ryan when he’s in such a state.</p><p>Shane carried the potion into the parlor and set it down, turning his attention to the fireplace. It wasn’t a particularly large fireplace. Truth be told, it would be far more efficient if the 1997 owners hadn’t have replaced the ground-floor doors with archways. Shane supposed that he could simply nail a sheet over the archway and it would be enough to trap the warm air, but it sounded like it was far more trouble than it was worth. After all, they probably wouldn’t be snowed in for too much longer.</p><p>By the time Ryan finally came down in his coat, bedroll in one arm and every pillow, blanket, and ensuite towel he could carry in the other, Shane had finished building the fire. Ryan dropped everything on the floor with a resigned ‘thud’, his eyes still distant. Shane pointed at the bottle of beer and that was all the invitation that Ryan needed to sit on the loveseat and start drinking.</p><p>“Was everything alright up there?” Shane asked.</p><p>“Obi was hiding under the bed.”</p><p>“He was probably still scared of the explosion. You know, loud noises.” Shane pulled the ember curtain across the fireplace and got to arranging what Ryan had brought down into a sort-of nest that could easily fit both of them. “I’m sure he’ll get cold or lonely and come down here eventually. Don’t worry too much about Obi.” He stood up, looking down at his handiwork. “There’s more blankets in the dining room storage chest. I’ll be right back. Hope you like the smell of cedar.”</p><p>As Shane collected the blankets in the dining room he heard Ryan sighing and quietly muttering to himself. There was the distinct sound of shoes falling to the floor and by the time he returned Ryan was already sitting in the middle of the nest of blankets and staring into the fire, beer in his hand. He barely reacted as Shane draped the blankets over his shoulders and turned off the lights.</p><p>“You feeling a little better, Ryan?”</p><p>Ryan shrugged, looking down at his beer and taking a long sip.</p><p>“Is there anything else you would like? We don’t have to go to sleep. If you want to work on your laptop or read or something I can turn the light back on. I don’t mind.”</p><p>“No. I… I think…” Ryan rubbed his eyes and absently picked at the label on his beer bottle. “I think that that was so much that just I’m shutting down. I’ve never had this reaction before but, even though I’m terrified, it’s like I can barely keep my eyes open.”</p><p>“Did you sleep at all while I was down in the library?”</p><p>“No.” Another drink. “This is why I won’t do a multi-day investigation. I just don’t think I can handle doing this on so little sleep. I feel like I still need to keep… watching, you know? And it’s not even for the sake of getting evidence, it’s just for my… my safety, I guess. There’s something in this house, I know there is.”</p><p>Shane was silent in thought, unbuckling and slipping out of his shoes. Although his first instinct would be outright skepticism, he knew that now wasn’t the time. Ryan was so distraught that being contrarian would only make things worse for him. On the other hand, if he expressed his own concerns about what he saw in the library then it would only fuel Ryan’s fear and, again, make things worse. He had to be something other than a skeptic or a believer in that moment.</p><p>“Would you like me to keep watch?” Shane asked.</p><p>Ryan, for the first time in a while, broke out of his trancelike state to look up at Shane. “You’d do that?”</p><p>“Of course,” Shane said, setting his shoes aside and lowering himself down onto the blankets. He kept close to the edge, not wanting to impose too much on Ryan’s space. “Is that alright?” </p><p>Ryan nodded, turning his attention back to the fire. Shane picked up Ryan’s case file off the floor and paged through it again. He had already read it cover-to-cover and was sure that there wasn’t some list of suspected witches hidden between pages on Reverend Underhill. Instead it offered something for Shane to do while he waited for the potion to take effect. It wasn’t long before Shane could see Ryan’s head loll tiredly forward for a second or two before he jolted himself back awake.</p><p>Shane set the file down in his lap. “Go to sleep, Ryan.”</p><p>Ryan set his empty bottle of beer aside and turned towards Shane. Although his face was mostly in shadow, Shane could clearly see the dark circles under his eyes. “You… erm… you promise to keep watch?”</p><p>“Yeah, of course.”</p><p>Ryan nodded and tilted his head slowly from side to side, clearly trying to stay awake still. He looked down at the pillows under him and lowered himself down, turning away from Shane to face the fire and the archway.</p><p>Shane watched as Ryan settled into the blankets and pillows, waiting for his breaths to grow slow and heavy with sleep. Instead he seemed to tense up and his head moved slightly, Shane presuming that he was trying to get a better look around the room.</p><p>“Ryan?”</p><p>Ryan startled at hearing Shane’s voice but didn’t turn to face him. “Yeah?”</p><p>“You don’t need to keep watch tonight,” Shane said, closing the case file and setting it on the cushion of the loveseat. “I made a promise to you and I intend on keeping it.”</p><p>Ryan was silent for a few seconds before he finally turned to face Shane, his heavy coat rustling as he moved. “Is it alright if I sleep facing you? I mean, that’s not too awkward, is it?”</p><p>“Of course not.” Shane lay down and looked at the room, his eyes focused on the archway that Ryan had been staring at. “I’m just keeping watch.”</p><p>“Can you come closer?” Ryan asked. “I’m also a little cold.”</p><p>“You’ll warm up,” Shane said, although he still moved closer to Ryan. “Between the coat and the blankets and the fire and now me, you’ll be plenty warm.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Although Ryan wasn’t facing the archway anymore, he was still anxious. From his peripheral, Shane could see Ryan staring up at the ceiling, either expecting something to manifest or expecting to hear something.</p><p>Perhaps overly confident from what Ryan had trusted him with, Shane took the topmost blanket and formed a sort of tent between them, one side draped over the back of Ryan’s head and the other wrapped over Shane’s shoulder. Ryan looked up at him, Shane clearly the only thing that he could see anymore.</p><p>“I told you I’d keep watch,” Shane said, his tone gentle. “Please, Ryan. Go to sleep.”</p><p>Ryan gave Shane a faint smile as his eyes finally drifted closed. Within the minute he was breathing deep and steady, the potion finally taking full effect.</p><p>As he lay there staring absently out the archway Shane wished he would have bothered to learn even a mild form of dream manipulation. The last thing he wanted was Ryan waking up from a nightmare. If anything else were to go wrong then Shane wasn’t sure what would happen to Ryan, especially if Devon and the rest of the crew were delayed in getting him out.</p><p>Shane sighed. The best he could do was make sure that the two of them were warm as the house slowly began to freeze. Hopefully the library wouldn’t get so cold that he wouldn’t be able to go down there without asking to borrow Ryan’s coat. But that was something he could worry about later. Right now he needed to pay attention to the room, as he promised he would.</p><p>After about a half-hour of silent observation, Shane’s attention had wandered to the fireplace. He was trying to remember the calculation he had used to figure out how many logs the fire needed to last the night when he saw something dark in the archway. It was only out of the corner of his eye, but Shane’s attention immediately shifted to the hallway. At first the darkness looked like just a trick of the firelight, but then it started to move like a large, black cloud.</p><p>Shane quickly glanced down to check on Ryan, who was still nuzzled into his pillow and fast asleep. When he brought his eyes back up the cloud was taking a definite, solid form. Within seconds the cloudlike void had taken the shape of a man, but was still nothing more than a pitch-black shadow. As the head of the man formed so did two bright red points of light where his eyes should be. Shane couldn’t explain it, but he felt the eyes focus on him and then on Ryan.</p><p>Shane quickly picked up his notebook and pen from where they had fallen that morning. On them he scribbled one of the few legitimate sigils he knew and began whispering the incantation: “Asazel, Raphan, Oberian. By the virtue of these holy names…”</p><p>The dark figure did not move any closer, instead watching Shane as he recited the rambling spell, which was little more than a list of forgotten deities and the few, vague promises that they had made.</p><p>“…By the holy name of God Celeo and virtue of Noah and all that were with him were preserved,” Shane finished.</p><p>He held the sigil up to face the figure. However, instead of flinching and backing away, as the few things Shane had used the spell on before had done compulsively, the being only tilted its head and took a step closer.</p><p>But then… Shane had never faced anything like this before.</p><p>Shane sat up, careful not to jostle around too much and wake Ryan. “What do you want from me?” he whispered, staring into the shadow’s red eyes. “Whatever it is, leave him alone. He has nothing to do with this.”</p><p>The figure stared back at Shane, holding perfectly still only a step into the room.</p><p>“It must have been something I had done,” Shane said under his breath, his intent still directed at the shadow. “I don’t remember much from who I was. I can’t remember you.”</p><p>The figure didn’t move any closer but slowly extended its hand out towards Shane. As if it were reaching. As if it were trying to grasp. Shane immediately became very aware of his racing heartbeat and his sharp, shallow breaths. His ears started ringing and drowned out the soft sound of the fireplace and the low, droning sigh of blizzard winds against the house. The ringing became so loud and constant that Shane could barely think about anything except for the sound. He closed his eyes, hoping that it would shut out the noise but to no avail. But then, just as suddenly as the ringing had begun, it stopped.</p><p>Shane opened his eyes to see the figure had already backed into the hallway. It was looking down at something and stepping away until it turned around and left entirely. As soon as it did, from the other side of the archway walked Obi.</p><p>Obi wandered into the room and went right up to Shane, stepping over his sigil and nuzzling against his face. Shane smiled and scratched him behind the ears.</p><p>“Thank you, Obi,” he whispered as Obi lay down on his paws. “You stay right here. Help me keep Ryan safe tonight?”</p><p>Obi didn’t respond, still staring out at the archway.</p><p>“Good boy.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Incantation lifted from The Book of Magical Charms from Chicago’s Newberry Library</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>PART III</strong>
</p><p>Although Shane had never put stock into the old beliefs that ghosts, spirits, and demons could be scared off by sunlight, he had still found himself reluctant to fall asleep until the first light of dawn peered through the tall windows of his parlor. That was Shane’s last dawn before he would need to return to the spirit world, and he only hoped that the roads would be cleared by then so Ryan wouldn’t be left alone. However, as precious as Shane knew that time was, the physical tax of going for so long without sleep caught up with him; and as the room filled with daylight, Shane finally passed out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shane wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The fire had died down, the pile of ashes under the logs significantly larger than Shane had remembered. Shane was alone, but heard movement in the kitchen. He sat up and closed his notebook, hoping that Ryan hadn’t seen the sigil.</p><p>He closed his eyes in thought, remembering the shadow that had stood in the archway. In Shane’s years of study, he had never remembered seeing anything that resembled it and, to be honest, he still had no idea what it was. Its aversion to Obi was the only saving grace that Shane could find, but what that meant for him or Ryan or even Obi Shane wasn’t sure.</p><p>There were footsteps and Ryan appeared in the archway, a bowl of top ramen in his hands.</p><p>“Hey there,” Ryan said, sitting down beside the fire. “I thought I’d let you sleep for a while. I hope you don’t mind.”</p><p>“What time is it?”</p><p>“Almost noon.” Ryan stirred the ramen, steam rising from the bowl as he slowly spun the fork. He and Shane sat in comfortable silence for a minute or so before he spoke again. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“I know I was a handful last night. I mean, there may have been some sort of… supernatural explanation for the boiler exploding when it did. I think there is. But, on the other hand… after taking a look at it in the day, I also think that maybe the boiler was just really old. I don’t know. And I guess I want to thank you for your patience and for humoring me. And for setting up the blankets down here. And for the fire. And for keeping watch. I guess I’m just thanking you for everything.”</p><p>Shane shrugged. “It’s no trouble.”</p><p>“I mean it. I don’t want to think of what would have happened if I were alone last night.”</p><p>Shane didn’t want to think of it either. He wasn’t entirely sure if the shadow he saw was targeting him or Ryan, but either way he was glad that he and Obi were there.</p><p>“Anyways,” Ryan said between bites of ramen. “I fed Obi the rest of the tuna. And I could make you some breakfast if you like. Although I don’t really know how to make much more than oatmeal.”</p><p>“Maybe in a little while.”</p><p>Shane leaned against the couch. <em>A little while</em>. He had only about fifteen hours left to not only solve his own mystery, but also figure out what exactly happened last night. But yet here he was, putting off food and, by extension, work just because he wanted Ryan to be comfortable and finish his lunch. But, really, now that he had the library open again, what was the rush? He may end up kicking himself over it for the next fifty years, but why not spend a little extra time with Ryan? Shane knew that these were the sorts of thoughts he had when his mind was guided by chemicals and not just the soul. This was the part of him speaking that was entirely human. And, although he had walked into this wanting to keep a sharp dividing line between the spirit and the body, he was compelled to listen to the blurred boundary that told him to do whatever made him happy. And, in that moment, that meant sitting by the fireside with Ryan.</p><p>“I was talking to Mark this morning,” Ryan said. “Although it’s still snowing, it’s not like there’s zero visibility like there was yesterday. The major roads in the town are cleared, but it’s slow work clearing the residential streets. Nobody’s been able to get a straight answer, but it looks like our area is going to get cleared last.”</p><p>“I take it there’s no timeframe on getting us out?”</p><p>“Yeah, the plows will show up when they show up. Looks like that’ll be tonight or maybe tomorrow morning. It’s hard to tell.”</p><p>Tomorrow morning was far too late. “Hopefully sooner rather than later.”</p><p>“Yeah, no offense, but I would much rather be somewhere warmer and not haunted.”</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p>Ryan tilted his head and smiled at Shane. “Was that you confessing to believing in something?”</p><p>“It was more me acknowledging that when you think a place is haunted there is a nonzero chance that you will eventually scare yourself to death.”</p><p>“There it is,” Ryan said, shaking his head but his smile not fading. “Speaking of. You know how I said that I think the boiler explosion may be related to the séance? Well, if it is a witch or a demon or something, I would feel better if I had some sort of… I don’t know… protection spell? I’m just saying, I mean, I’ve had spirits follow me home before. If this one really is that powerful then I would feel safer if there was something that would, perhaps, stop it from doing that? Basically, I would like to go back to the library.”</p><p>Shane hummed in thought. Ryan was entirely right, of course, and they needed to find a stronger protection spell, but Shane knew that he couldn’t let on to that right away.</p><p>“Please, Shane,” Ryan said. “I know that I’m asking to just poke around a 350-year-old library like it’s a used bookstore. But I swear I’ll be careful. I’ll wear gloves. I won’t touch anything unless you give me the okay.”</p><p>Shane stretched and pretended to consider his options. “As long as we bring Obi down with us.”</p><p>“Don’t you think that’s a little dangerous?” Ryan asked. “A cat wandering around nice wood furniture and shelves with a bunch of breakable shit. Plus there’s that well.”</p><p>“He should be fine as long as we give him some attention,” Shane said. Until they figured out what they were up against, Obi was their best line of defense. “Besides, judging by how he just hung around us all night long, he was lonely staying up here.”</p><p>“Awwn, was he sleeping with us? I missed it. I slept like a rock last night. I must have been really out of it.” Ryan finished off his ramen and put the bowl aside. “But I don’t have any problems with bringing Obi along. I’m not a cat person, but I’ve really grown attached to the little guy.”</p><p>Shane got to his feet, stretching for a second before picking up Ryan’s bowl. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Food.”</p><p>Ryan initially protested but calmed down as he sat back down on the blankets and seemed to have instantly remembered how warm they could be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shane considered it a small miracle that Ryan managed to button up Obi under his coat and that the cat had somehow held still long enough for Ryan to carry him down into the basement. That was a few hours ago and now Obi was curled up on the desk, fast asleep. Ryan was sitting on the floor between the bookcases, surrounded by stacks of books and a slowly-filling notebook. Shane was unsure if Ryan was still looking for information on what he thought he witnessed last night or if he was gathering information for his work. Either way, he had been pretty absorbed in what he was doing. As was Shane.</p><p>Ryan had stayed out of the vast potion section of Shane’s library, which was where Shane once again found himself spending his time. As a witch he pretty much only did one thing, but he knew he did it well. A few of his favorite compendiums were open and some of the more unfamiliar texts lay beside them, held open with a bottle of nightshade. Shane had decided that, if he couldn’t figure out what it was that watched them last night, that he would need to do what he can to make sure it wouldn’t follow Ryan once he leaves. Since he didn’t know what it was that he was up against, Shane couldn’t work with specifics. However, if he threw everything he had into this spell then he wouldn’t need specifics.</p><p>Creating the spell bag wasn’t as easy as simply putting a pinch of everything into a pouch, even though Shane admitted that that was what it looked like he was doing. But there was a method to his arrangement, a carefully constructed array with herbs and stones and sigils written onto torn pieces of parchment. There was structure to this, as much structure as any of his potions. The only difference is that spell bags couldn’t be consumed.</p><p>Shane swore under his breath as he took down the glass jar that was supposed to be full of thyme only to find it empty. Even when he was alive the thyme jar always seemed empty, and it didn’t help that Shane was such a horrible gardener. It wasn’t the best position to be in when one’s livelihood involves selling extracts and bits of dried plants.</p><p>“Shane?”</p><p>Shane tightened the cord on the little leather pouch he had been filling with every protection item and spell he could find. Pouch strings tightened and tangled in his hands, Shane poked his head out from behind the row of bookshelves. Ryan had carefully piled his books so they wouldn’t get underfoot as he got to his feet and stretched.</p><p>“How’s your research doing?”</p><p>“Enlightening.” Shane approached Ryan, making sure not to step on any of the books. “Have you found anything?”</p><p>“A few descriptions that might match what was going on last night. At first I really thought that this matched the behavior of a demon – it was far too aggressive to be a ghost and far too subtle to be a poltergeist. But then, after reading some more I found this passage.” Ryan picked up his notebook and flipped back a few pages. “Here. ‘Witches often require a form of physical interaction with their targets in order for their spells to be effective. This can be done through touching (such as scratching the skin or pulling on items of clothing) or through the consumption of potions. <em>However</em>, it is possible for a witch’s spells to be just as powerful <em>without</em> the need for touch<em> if the witch grounds themself in water</em>.’” Ryan looked up. “Shane, the spirit board was the strongest response I had recorded in this house so far, and we’re literally near the bottom of a well. Not to mention that the other thing that was altered was the <em>boiler</em>.”</p><p>“You’re saying this is a witch?”</p><p>“It’s Xander.”</p><p>“It’s not Xander.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Because…” Shane took a second to think about this. “Because he was born 380 years ago.”</p><p>“His ghost.”</p><p>Shane tried not to look too frustrated. “You just said that you didn’t think it was a ghost.”</p><p>“It could be a witch’s ghost.”</p><p>“There was nothing in those books about witch afterlife,” Shane said, his voice perhaps a little too stern. After realizing what he just said he added, “I mean, I doubt it. Was there?”</p><p>“Well, just because I didn’t find it doesn’t mean that it’s not <em>somewhere </em>in this library. Why would a witch’s afterlife be all that different from our own? I can see a witch turning into a ghost. I mean, what do you think happens after you die?”</p><p>“Nothing. I think you just stop.”</p><p>Ryan’s eyes widened. “Jesus Christ. You think there’s nothing? At all?”</p><p>“There better be nothing after I die. I’m gonna be honest, if I die and find out that there’s more existing to do, I’m gonna be a little mad. Not gonna lie.”</p><p>“‘If I die,’” Ryan repeated.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“‘If.’”</p><p>“That aside,” Shane said. “I was reading Xander’s journal yesterday. In there you will find him as a schoolmaster who was upset with the way things were in the town. He lay low and communicated via anonymous letters. There was an entry I found where he gave an angry parent a relaxation tonic because he thought that they were going to start a feud with another student’s family. He doesn’t like confrontation and isn’t aggressive. I don’t see why that would change just because he died.”</p><p>“Well, if it wasn’t Xander, then what was it? I mean, I’m not ruling out demons, but this really does feel more and more like the actions of a witch.”</p><p>“Because of the water stuff?”</p><p>“Yeah!” Ryan stopped and his eyes widened. “If it’s not Xander but is a witch then what if Xander really was killed by another witch? And what if that witch is here?”</p><p>Shane carded his fingers through his hair. He had to say that this was most likely what was going on. However, there was no proof. From what Shane could remember and from what he saw in Ryan’s notes, the only known witch in town was Xander. And, as far as Shane knew, nobody ever tried to take credit for his writings, which would have created the most likely suspect. All that he really had to go on was a hunch and whoever he recorded as acting suspicious around him. It wasn’t like Shane didn’t expect to have a target drawn on his back; he just thought it would come from Haltman or Underhill.</p><p>“This comes back to solving a 350-year-old mystery, doesn’t it?” Shane asked. “And finding a very old witch.”</p><p>“Age aside,” Ryan said, “because I’m not ready to take ghost witch off the table; do you think that Underhill was a witch himself? That would be quite a twist.”</p><p>Shane scoffed. There really was only one thing to know about Underhill and that was that he understood, more than anything else, that power could be gained from stoking fear. If Underhill did have any sort of magic at his disposal, he would have used it long before he even came to consider the cloth. If Underhill had the power to mysteriously kill even one livestock animal in order to prove a sort of “divine wrath” he would. Underhill was not a subtle person and Shane was positive that if he had any more power than he already did then the town would be in chaos.</p><p>“Okay,” Ryan said in response to Shane’s scoff. “What about Haltman?”</p><p>“Wasn’t he illiterate? He would have needed someone to read all this to him.”</p><p>“I don’t remember reading that. Weird thing to skip over if I did. Was that in the complete file?”</p><p>“I dunno. I read it somewhere,” Shane said, although he was pretty sure he was just parroting a reasonably well-known rumor.</p><p>“But it could still be someone else.”</p><p>“Yes, unfortunately that doesn’t tell us that much.”</p><p>“And I’m not positive that this couldn’t be Xander,” Ryan said. “He may be a nice guy, but he might not have liked us snooping around his secret room. He may not have liked me coming in and talking about him. I mean, consider this, I think of ghosts as people. So I’m thinking that if someone came into <em>my </em>apartment and started poking around and going through my stuff, I would get a little mad. I might, for example, go so far as to break something if I thought that it would make them leave.”</p><p>“Hey, remember when they found Tutankhamun’s tomb?”</p><p>Ryan blinked, clearly caught off-guard but still curious. “What?”</p><p>“Oh man, that must have been, what? A hundred years ago? Has it been that long?”</p><p>“Yeah. Remember it like it was yesterday.”</p><p>Shane laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound so… weird.”</p><p>He still remembered the day that he read that headline on the 1922 resident’s dining room table. Thankfully, she was just as curious about the discovery as Shane was and the house was soon filled with books and articles about Ancient Egypt. It was perhaps the most exciting period of secondhand knowledge that Shane had experienced – sitting with her and reading along for hours on end.</p><p>“Anyways,” he continued. “Do you remember when they found his tomb? After, like, three thousand years? And everything was intact? Apparently it was so hidden because people tried to erase him and his family from history because his father tried to introduce monotheism, which would have upset all the priests, who were still very powerful. And then he died under mysterious circumstances? I mean, the priests tried so hard to make everyone forget him but now his name is the first thing everyone learns when they study Ancient Egyptian culture.”   </p><p>“You just spat a lot of Egypt facts at me,” Ryan said.</p><p>“One more. And you know how in Ancient Egyptian culture that the impact of one’s life is closely tied to being remembered; specifically their name being remembered? I’m paraphrasing. But do you think that King Tutankhamun was upset when people found him and started saying his name again?”</p><p>“Wasn’t there a curse tied to his tomb?”</p><p>“Nevermind that. My point is that I don’t think that Xander would be upset with you for seeing this. In fact, I think he’d be relieved to know that he was remembered after so long.” Shane put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “I think he would see you and know that his memory is in good hands.”</p><p>Ryan smiled faintly before looking down at Shane’s hand. “What’s that?”</p><p>“Oh.” Shane lifted the leather pouch and turned it around in his hands. “I figured that as long as we have some supplies to work with then I might as well make something for you. You mentioned something about wanting protection. Well, I was looking around some of the spell and potion books and made a little spell bag for you.”</p><p>“For me?” Ryan took the bag as Shane offered it. “How does it work?”</p><p>“I dunno, really. You wear it or you put it under your pillow or something.”</p><p>Ryan pressed on the bag with his thumb, a soft crunch like dried leaves coming from inside. “Maybe… tea?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t recommend it, there are iron filings in there.”</p><p>Ryan picked at the leather cord holding the bag shut, trying to open the knot. Shane guided him over to the floor candelabra by the well door. In the light Ryan was able to undo the knot easily, the bag loosening under his fingers and opening its mess of contents.</p><p>“Did you <em>make </em>this or did you <em>find </em>it?”</p><p>“I made it.”</p><p>Ryan turned to look at Shane with wide eyes. “You disturbed something in this room and you want me to take it out with me? Have you never seen a horror movie?”   </p><p>“Have you seen how many jars of ingredients he has over there?” Shane asked, gesturing to the wall lined with them. “This is barely anything. It’s hardly disturbed. Besides, he’s dead; he can share.”</p><p>“I just don’t know if we should be messing with Xander’s stuff. Didn’t you just say that he would respect us because we respect his space?”</p><p>“Xander wouldn’t mind.”</p><p>Ryan wheezed a laugh. “You don’t know that! I mean, did he leave a note saying ‘hey, if anyone comes in here centuries after my death, feel free to help yourself.’”</p><p>“No. I mean… look.” Shane reached into a nearby bookcase and pulled out a ledger. “Look at what he was making. This one: ‘January 9, 1666: Nightmare Prevention Charm for G____ in exchange for half doz. eggs.’ Or this one: ‘July 26, 1665: Draught for Healthy Pregnancy (cow) for K_____ in exchange for wheel of cheese and 6d.’ But the majority of these entries are for ‘nerves.’ Just in 1668 it looks like there was at least one nerve draught made a month. Second to ‘nerves’ is ‘protection charm.’ Xander wasn’t malicious. In fact, this is exactly the sort of thing that he would have made all the time.”</p><p>Ryan looked hesitantly at the bag in his hands, considering what Shane had just told him.</p><p>“It’s not complete yet,” Shane said, putting the ledger back on the shelf. “It needs thyme. The herb, not the abstract concept. I mean, according to the books I found. But… it’s almost a protection spell.”</p><p>“I think there’s some up in the kitchen,” Ryan said. “Pretty sure I saw it when I was going through the cupboards.”</p><p>“Well then there we go. Then you would have a spell bag just like how Xander used to make.”</p><p>“Ehh. I don’t think that he got his ingredients from McCormick.”</p><p>“<em>Almost</em> like how Xander used to make.” Shane pulled the cords of the pouch shut again. “We’ll go upstairs and I’ll finish it for you. I mean… you came down here looking for protection. And this is it.”</p><p>Ryan watched as Shane tied a quick, loose knot. “You don’t believe in this stuff.”</p><p>“Yeah, well…” Shane pressed the bag into Ryan’s palm and maneuvered Ryan’s fingers to close around it. “That’s why it would probably do you more good than me.”</p><p>“Were you doing this just for me?”</p><p>Shane looked up from their hands as Ryan’s smile broadened. With each second of silence between them it brightened, radiating in his eyes and cheeks. For a moment it flummoxed Shane, as if Ryan had exposed something that Shane was himself not fully ready to acknowledge. </p><p>“Yeah, I mean, I’d like you to feel secure with this. You seemed rattled last n-”</p><p>“-That’s sweet.”</p><p>Shane thought about the hours he had spent creating a new spell and researching. It wasn’t much more than he would have done for a client, but he had to admit that there was something different happening here. There was no exchange, nothing that Shane expected in return. Or perhaps he did, but he wasn’t looking for anything tangible. In an instant he tried to run through everything he could have been anticipating from Ryan: trust, respect, appreciation. But it didn’t take long for Shane to realize that he had already been compensated with that one, single, genuine smile; and how it had made him feel was worth the hours of research and work.</p><p>“It’s not that sweet,” Shane said.</p><p>“It kind of is.” Ryan looked back down at their hands and hesitated before resting his free hand over the back of Shane’s knuckles. “I appreciate it.”</p><p>Shane felt his cheeks grow hot and he was sure that even in the low candlelight Ryan could see the blush form across them and sweep down his neck. He tried to think of something to respond to that with, but stopped as Ryan’s smile suddenly faded into a pained grimace.</p><p>“Shane?” There was a stilted nervousness to Ryan’s voice and Shane could feel his grip on the spell bag tighten. “Can you… can you check my back?”</p><p>“Your back?”</p><p>“Yeah it feels… it feels like a sort of burning.” Ryan unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it off. “Almost like a sunburn. You know? That stinging.”</p><p>Shane agreed and Ryan turned around, reached behind him, and tugged up on his shirt and sweatshirt. In the middle of Ryan’s back were three thin parallel lines of slightly raised, slightly red skin.</p><p>“What do you see?”</p><p>“I… erm… I think we should go back upstairs.” Shane turned towards Obi and the desk. “It’s time we gave Obi some <em>food</em> anyways.”</p><p>At the mention of food Obi lifted his head. And although he was on the other side of the room, Shane would have sworn that Obi’s eyes focused on something past him and Ryan. Obi got to his feet and jumped off the desk. As soon as he landed, Ryan let out a horrible, pained shout and doubled over. Shane looked down and his stomach lurched. The three little light red lines on Ryan’s back darkened until his skin tore under them and his blood spilled from the gashes.</p><p>“Shane?!”</p><p>As Obi approached the two, the unseen force digging into Ryan’s back suddenly stopped, leaving ripped flesh and trails of blood. Before Shane had a chance to stop him, Ryan reached back and touched one of the open wounds, his fingers coming away wet with blood.</p><p>“Okay,” Shane said, pulling Ryan’s clothes back down over the wound. “We’re all going up right now.”</p><p>“Shane! What did you see?!”</p><p>“I’ll be right behind you, Ryan.”</p><p>“Tell me what you saw!”</p><p>Ryan straightened himself and turned to Shane, his eyes wide and glassy. He held the spell bag in one hand, the other stained dark red. Both were shaking. Shane clasped his hands around Ryan’s, holding him there and listening to shallow, ragged breaths.</p><p>“Ryan, I need you to believe me,” Shane said, his voice measured and serious. “I genuinely have no idea what I just saw.”</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a first-aid kit in the bathroom and thyme in the kitchen, which was all they needed at the moment. Shane carefully applied the disinfectant to the wound as Ryan lay on his stomach in front of the fireplace. The completed spell bag sat next to the nest-like pile of blankets and Obi was curled up by Ryan’s head, purring. Shane poured an antiseptic onto the first-aid kit’s old cotton balls and gently cleaned the wound. Ryan was supposed to be checking on the weather and texting Mark and Devon, but he kept returning to the photo of his back that Shane had taken for him.</p><p>“How did they form?” Ryan asked.</p><p>Shane breathed a deep sigh. That must have been the fifth time that Ryan had asked that question and each time Shane had unsuccessfully tried to describe it. His answers shifted slightly with each attempt, making it sound like the scratches manifested out of thin air. Technically, this was exactly what happened. Besides, Ryan was scared enough without Shane saying point-blank that a spirit was responsible.</p><p>“It was like they just sort of pressed themselves into you,” Shane said.</p><p>“But… how?”</p><p>“Allergy?” Shane offered, only to realize how useless that explanation was. “I have no idea. I meant it when I said that I didn’t know what I was looking at when it happened.”</p><p>“But ‘<em>allergy</em>’? Fuckin’ allergies don’t do this!”</p><p>“Okay, it was a bad guess,” Shane said. “But look, we don’t know what happened. The human body is funny like that.”</p><p>Ryan groaned and buried his face in the pillows. “No it’s not. This doesn’t just <em>happen</em>.” He winced as Shane lightly pressed a freshly-soaked cotton ball against the wound. “How many times has this happened to you?”</p><p>Shane didn’t answer as he cleaned the wounds. In his head he went through some of the ingredients he could gather together to heal the gashes on Ryan’s back. Honey and white pine were really all he needed to protect the wound; a spell and some other odds and ends and the cuts wouldn’t even leave a scar. It wasn’t that complicated to make. However, Shane wasn’t about to leave Ryan alone right now; and he certainly wasn’t going to ask him to go back down to the library. So he supposed modern medicine would have to do.</p><p>When Shane looked up to pour more of the antiseptic onto the cotton ball he saw Ryan with the spell pouch in his hands. He held it gently, as if grasping onto it too hard would make it fall apart. He breathed deep and Shane felt Ryan’s back gently rise with the sigh.</p><p>“Almost done. Then I’ll bandage you up,” Shane said as he started cleaning the last of the lines. “Are you alright? You’ve been kinda quiet ever since we came up here.”</p><p>“Processing.” He turned his head, trying to look back at Shane. “Why won’t you tell me what you saw?”</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>“You described what happened,” Ryan corrected. “You didn’t say anything about what you think it was. And ‘allergy’ doesn’t count; you don’t actually believe that.”</p><p>“But I don’t know what it was.”</p><p>“I remember you saying something about how you only don’t believe in ghosts because you haven’t seen one. What would it take for you to believe your own eyes? Do you need it to scratch me again? Because I’ll take the camera and-”</p><p>“No! No… I…”</p><p>Shane set the cotton ball beside the other first-aid supplies and looked down at Ryan, their eyes meeting. Despite the extreme nature of the request there was a stony look to Ryan’s eyes that told Shane that he meant it. It was an expression that was so unusual for Ryan, with his soft features and the smile that usually lingered on his lips. Shane sat back on his heels, not looking away from Ryan and no longer comfortable with simply carrying on with the treatment.</p><p>“Ryan,” he said, his voice soft. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”</p><p>Ryan shrugged. “I can take it.”</p><p>“That doesn’t matter! Ryan, I don’t want you to put yourself in danger just to prove a point.”</p><p>“But will you believe me then?!” Ryan snapped, sitting up. “If I do this would you believe me when I tell you that ghosts are real? Or would you still think I’m making this up?”</p><p>The words struck Shane with what could have been a physical force. Despite his abilities, Shane had always been skeptical by nature. Yes, there were people who he thought made up everything when it came to the supernatural. People like Underhill. People like the numerous “psychics” or “sensitive mediums” who came through the house in the past century or so. But despite the cameras and the theories and the production that surrounded <em>Unsolved</em>, Shane knew that Ryan wasn’t like the others. Ryan didn’t feel the need to pretend that “the spirit of Xander” was talking to him, like so many others had done, because he genuinely believed that, if he listened for long enough, he might be able to capture a single word. And that would be enough.</p><p>His approach was so honest that, as much of the theory behind it that Shane may disagree with, he couldn’t help but to admire Ryan for it.</p><p>“I believe…” Shane started, although he knew that confirming Ryan’s fears would just make things worse, “… that you believe.”</p><p>“Oh, what a cop-out!”</p><p>“It’s true! I know you’re not saying that it was a ghost so you could prove me wrong or because you thought that there should be evidence. You believe it was something supernatural because, based on what you saw, what you experienced, it really is what you think is behind all this. I believe <em>you</em>. I just… don’t believe <em>what</em> you believe.”</p><p>“Shockingly, not as high of a compliment as you think it is.”</p><p>Shane fell quiet. Again, he studied Ryan’s features and the distant stillness about him that clouded whatever was going on in his mind. Unsure what Ryan needed but willing to try, Shane offered a single, comforting, “You’re alright.”</p><p>Ryan’s eyes widened and his sternness began to fade.</p><p>“You’ll be alright, Ryan.”</p><p>Ryan looked away and his lips tightened. He put his hand over his mouth and slowly rubbed his thumb against his cheek. The firelight caught his eyes as they began to water.</p><p>“I…” Ryan started but was unable to finish, his voice tight. He forced a laugh and a tear slid down his cheek, resting on his fingertips.</p><p>“Ryan?”</p><p>“I’m just really stressed.”</p><p>Shane’s heart ached as Ryan’s voice cracked. Ryan closed his eyes tight and turned away. As he turned, Shane could see the cuts on his back begin to blossom red again. Ryan tightened his grip on the spell bag as his shoulders lurched with shallow, uneven breaths.</p><p>Ryan rubbed at his face. “Oh god, what happened to me?”</p><p>Shane hesitantly put his hand over Ryan’s, moving a little closer when Ryan didn’t pull away.</p><p>“You’re alright,” Shane repeated.</p><p>Ryan rubbed at his eyes and looked down at their hands. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this, I-”</p><p>“-I understand. There’s nothing to apologize for; it’s alright. It’s been a long couple of days and… I can’t help but to feel responsible. If I hadn’t have wanted to go down that well so badly then this wouldn’t have happened. I never meant for things to-”</p><p>Ryan turned back towards Shane, cheeks red and eyes wide. “-What? No. Shane, this was such a huge discovery. I’m happy that I got to play a part in finding it.” He too moved closer, the two of them so near to each other that their knees touched. “I don’t blame you.”</p><p>“Some things just happen,” Shane said.</p><p>Ryan nodded silently and Shane watched him gaze into the fire. “It’s like part of my mind’s still down there,” he said. “And I can hear it – the moment it happened. That sound of… something breaking the skin. Like carving meat. I keep hearing it in the back of my head.”</p><p>Shane held his arms out in offering, startled at how quickly Ryan came into the embrace. Shane melted into the touch as Ryan wrapped his arms around him, dragging them close together. Any closer and Ryan would have had to climb onto Shane’s lap, but instead he stayed at his side. They leaned into each other, Ryan’s forehead pressed against Shane’s shoulder and Shane careful not to rest his hand on the open wounds on Ryan’s back.</p><p>“How long until you expect the roads to be clear?” Shane asked.</p><p>“Hours yet,” Ryan said.</p><p>“Until then,” Shane said as he leaned back and looked down at Ryan. “Let’s just rest here. I’ll tidy up downstairs some other time. There’s no rush.”</p><p>Ryan sighed and let go of Shane, crossing his legs as he sat. “I suppose you should finish bandaging me up.”</p><p>“I could,” Shane said. “But you know what I think you should have first?”</p><p>“A stiff drink?”</p><p>“No. Well, yes. But also…” Shane said, pausing to let Ryan wonder for a second. “… A warm bath.”</p><p>Ryan looked at Shane, then at the cold radiator in the corner, and then back. “How?”</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryan did get his drink – a warm whiskey that he nursed by the fire as Shane ran the bath. Shoved into the fireplace were several large pieces of rubble that Shane brought up from the basement. By the time Shane had finished filling the bathtub, the stones in the fire had already started to turn black with soot.</p><p>Ryan lay on the blankets with his wounds still exposed, petting Obi as Shane walked in with a deep, cast iron pot and heavy oven mitts. “Are you sure this will get the bath hot enough?”</p><p>“Of course,” Shane said and silently reminded himself not to add on that he had done this countless times. He picked up the fireplace tongs and started moving rocks to the pot. “And there are still some towels upstairs, so don’t worry about taking apart the bed.”</p><p>Ryan braced his head up with an arm as he watched Shane. “I would have been so useless during Xander’s time. No hot water, witches leaving messages, I would have walked into the sea.”</p><p>Shane wheezed. “You would have been fine.”</p><p>“I suppose I could have been a witcher. A witchfinder. Whatever the job was called.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“How do you know ‘no’?”</p><p>“I don’t think that you would be so casual about torture, even back then,” Shane said as he fished rocks out of the embers. “I think that the whole interrogating people, sticking pins in them, and dunking them into water would have really put you off. Even if you thought it was your moral obligation to do the job, I think you would be sickened by how the others would enjoy it.”</p><p>Ryan paused to think about this. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m cut out for that.”</p><p>“Because you’re a human being.” With the last of the rocks set into the rapidly-heating cast iron pot, Shane put the oven mitts on and picked it up. “Pick up the tongs for me?”</p><p>Ryan got to his feet and gathered up the fireplace tongs, his other hand still gripping the spell bag Shane had made for him. Shane smiled as he saw that. He was touched that Ryan would take his creation so seriously, but mostly he was just relieved that he didn’t have to ask Ryan to bring it. He didn’t know how effective the spell bag was since he didn’t know what he was up against, but it still made him feel better to know that Ryan had something that could protect him.</p><p>Shane led Ryan up the stairs and into the bedroom’s ensuite bath. Between the tall window, the tile floor, and the porcelain fixtures, the small room was freezing and a heavy cloud of steam rose from the rocks Shane carried. He set them beside the tub and knelt down, drawing in a sharp breath as his knees dug into the painfully cold floor.</p><p>“It’s fucking freezing,” Ryan muttered as he approached Shane. He grabbed a towel off of its rod and wrapped it over his bare shoulders. “Should I put a shirt on for this bath?”</p><p>“It warms up quickly,” Shane said as Ryan handed him the fireplace tongs. “And I think you’ll want to get in right away.”</p><p>Shane picked up one of the rocks and carefully lowered it into the tub. The water around it immediately started to steam and boil. Shane then set the rock on the bottom and moved on to the next, each causing the water to roil and a cloud of steam to grow like a fog around the bath. By the time Shane finished even the space next to the tub was warm and the water was invitingly hot. Ryan stepped behind Shane and lightly dragged his fingertips over the surface of the water, ripples spiraling after his touch.</p><p>“It does look really nice,” Ryan said with a little, disbelieved laugh.</p><p>Shane got to his feet. “I’ll take care of your cuts, but I’ll leave you to change first. After cleaning them again I’ll give you some privacy.”</p><p>Ryan didn’t look up from the tub as Shane spoke, tilting his head in quiet consideration for a moment before, “After what happened earlier… I think I’d be more comfortable with you here than not.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>Ryan nodded and straightened up. “I mean… only if that’s okay with you.”</p><p>“Of course.” Shane looked down at Ryan, considering his clothing. “Should I step out or-”</p><p>“-No. Just… turn around, I guess.”</p><p>Shane turned and pretended to busy himself at the sink while he pretended that he didn’t want to bolt out of the room for modesty’s sake. Although Shane hated when people talked about him, or rather, Xander, as if he were a puritan, he knew that he was a product of that culture. As much as he tried to unlearn the puritanical teachings, he just couldn’t separate the action of undressing from expression of desire, and that was what bothered him. That was what made his cheeks burn as he heard Ryan’s jeans fall to the floor in a heap. He gripped onto the sink and reminded himself that what he was feeling was a normal and human reaction and, as long as he didn’t hurt anyone because of it, he had nothing to be ashamed of. But still the words “depraved” and “beastlike” echoed through him and made him want to run. He wanted to do what he used to do, which was get away as quickly as possible and lie in bed, hating himself for the intensity of his emotions until they compressed into a diamond-like ember of aching longing, flaring with occasional heat and keeping his mind lost and occupied throughout the night. After so many nights of that, Shane wasn’t even sure if he wanted sex as much as he wanted companionship.</p><p>The sound of Ryan stepping into the tub was enough to pull Shane out of his thoughts. He turned his head, first checking to see that Ryan was still wearing some clothing before he turned around completely. Ryan lowered himself into the water, the spell bag tied around his wrist. Shane could still feel a warmth in his cheeks, which he was sure darkened as Ryan let out a low, contented moan and sank deeper into the water.</p><p>“Shane, you’re a genius,” Ryan mumbled as he leaned back, letting the water cover his shoulders. “You’re a fucking genius.”</p><p>Shane smiled politely as he sat down beside the bath.</p><p>“I mean it,” Ryan said, resting his head against the lip of the tub. “And maybe it’s because I’ve been so cold for nearly a full day and this is really warm, but this feels wonderful.”</p><p>Shane picked up a bath sponge from the floor and motioned for Ryan to hand him a bar of soap.</p><p>“I appreciate this, but I really can wash myself,” Ryan said, handing Shane the soap anyways.</p><p>“I’ll check your back again. And then I’ll finally finish bandaging you up when you’re dried off.”</p><p>“They really are that deep, huh?”</p><p>“It’s concerning. But then, maybe I’m overly cautious about health things.”</p><p>“Not the worst thing to get hung up on.”</p><p>Shane watched as Ryan tilted his head back against the tub again and relaxed, the hairs on the very back of his neck lifting as they touched the water. Ryan’s eyes were closed and the mistlike steam blurred his image – serene and dreamlike. Seeing Ryan like this and Shane knew that when this relationship too dissolved into longing daydreams that this was how he would choose to remember Ryan. Shane wasn’t sure if it was the shift in culture or simply Ryan’s personality, but he seemed so open and expressive that Shane wasn’t sure if he was being granted a rare privilege to see Ryan like this or not. It was like the two of them had known each other for years.</p><p>“Ryan?” Shane said. “I can’t wash your back if you don’t sit up.”</p><p>Ryan shook his head. “Nope. My shoulders just got warm. I’m never sitting up, baby.”</p><p>Shane smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but before he did Ryan let out a low, resigned groan. Slowly, Ryan dragged himself to a sitting position, his shoulders tensing as they hit the cool air. He turned so he sat with his back to Shane, water sloshing around the tub and over the sides with his movements.</p><p>The gashes on Ryan’s back were still red and slightly raw, but Shane could see where they already were beginning to scab over. Not wanting to irritate them any more, Shane gathered soapy water into the sponge and ran it across Ryan’s shoulders, causing warm water to cascade down. Although Shane’s primary concern was with the scratch marks along Ryan’s back, it was difficult to not be distracted by the soft moans that came out of Ryan every time Shane pressed the sponge against him.</p><p>Still, Shane wondered what it was that attacked Ryan. The scratches seemed to look like they were made by a human – one that was interested in inflicting as much damage as possible. He thought back to the shadow figure he saw the night before, knowing that it had to have been responsible. However, knowing more about its abilities did little to answer the question of ‘what.’ It was strange, after so many years of inhabiting the house and the land Shane had never witnessed anything like this. He had heard about the shadow figure, but, as far as Shane knew, nobody had ever been attacked before.</p><p>Shane pressed the sponge against Ryan’s shoulder and watched the water spill along his back and into the tub. It was a shame that Shane couldn’t go back into the library to figure out what they were up against. The way things had been going it looked like they were going to do little more than wait in the parlor for one of the crew to drive them away as soon as the roads were clear.</p><p>No. Not “them”.</p><p>Although Shane knew that he would disappear with the dawn and it would be better for Ryan not to be around for that, he still wanted to go with him. As accustomed as Shane was to loneliness, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to spend the rest of his agonizingly-long existence aching for Ryan’s company. He tried to remind himself that, with how he was able to interact with the world, there was nothing particularly unique about Ryan except that he happened to be in the right place at the right time. He would have felt this way about anyone who he had come across as a human.</p><p>But Ryan wasn’t just “anyone,” was he? And the thought of missing him and never being able to be with him again hurt more than Shane ever could have expected. What he had felt towards Ryan was never supposed to be anything more than an appreciation rooted in the ecstatic chemical firings found only in the physical human form. Shane wasn’t sure what had caused things to get so out of hand. It could have been how Ryan’s smile was so genuine or how his wide, frightened eyes always prompted Shane to rush to his side and comfort him. But now the thought of Ryan and what will soon be his memory drove into Shane’s heart like a stake he could never pull out and would remain there even when he lost his body and became a spirit again.</p><p>Shane had spent so long detached from life that he never thought that he would ever want to truly live again. But if living meant that he could stay with Ryan longer…</p><p>“Shane.”</p><p>Shane’s focus snapped back to the room. Ryan’s voice had been so breathy and contented that it was impossible to ignore. While Shane was lost in thought he had absently started rubbing the sponge against Ryan’s shoulder and down his bicep. He quickly shifted his attention back to Ryan’s wounds, like he had said he was going to do.</p><p>“Sorry,” Shane mumbled. “I got distracted.”</p><p>“Am I distracting?”</p><p>Shane paused, unsure how to respond. The many interpretations of “yes” and the numerous consequences of “no” all flitted through his mind. How honest could he be? What was acceptable? Ultimately he decided not to say anything and slowly lowered the sponge to the water’s surface.</p><p>Ryan turned, the water once again churning and lapping at the very rim of the tub. There was a certain heaviness to his eyes that Shane didn’t anticipate and he felt his cheeks and neck sting with rushing blood. He smiled and Shane could do nothing but watch in silent, awed wonder.</p><p>“Got something on your mind?” Ryan asked.</p><p>Shane forced a soft laugh but that was all he could do, unable to find words.</p><p>“Gonna let me in?” Ryan pressed on, still smiling. “Can’t help but feel like I’m at a bit of a disadvantage here, sitting half-naked in a bath.”</p><p>Shane coughed and looked away, tightening his grip on the sponge. “I… erm…” He forced another laugh. “I was just thinking about how I haven’t taken a shower in a while.”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” Ryan said, leaning against the tub rim. “You didn’t expect to stay here this long.”</p><p>“No… no I did not.”</p><p>“And you’ve been stuck wearing that costume the whole time, that can’t be comfortable.”</p><p>“Exactly,” Shane said.</p><p>“Well,” Ryan answered with a smile as he nodded towards the water, “there’s plenty of room in here.”</p><p>Moments before, Shane’s cheeks had been tingling; but after hearing that they became unbearably hot. He knew there were multiple vivid mental images that could have accompanied such an invitation and fully intended on tormenting himself over them later, but in the moment he just focused on the sponge in his hand.</p><p>Shane cleared his throat. “I… I don’t think that would be a good idea.”</p><p>Ryan’s expression softened and he took the sponge from Shane’s hands. “Was that too forward?”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Shane said. And then, against his better judgment, “But not unwelcomed.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“It’s just… this isn’t a good time for me.” Shane looked down at the spell bag that dangled from Ryan’s wrist in a loose knot. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Nothing to be sorry about,” Ryan said, small waves climbing up the sides of the tub as he slid deeper into the water and rested his head on his arm. “I should apologize to you. You’ve been nothing but accommodating and I made it weird.”</p><p>“Not weird,” Shane insisted. “This is my… issue.”</p><p>Ryan hummed and watched Shane. “I’d understand if you don’t, but if you ever feel like talking about what’s going on, I’m here. I mean, I owe it to you, after what you’ve done for me.”</p><p>Shane shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything, Ryan.”</p><p>“I feel like I don’t know anything about you,” Ryan said, his voice sleepy. “For all I know, you’ve just been staying around here your entire life.”</p><p>Another forced laugh. “Well… I don’t think that’s too far off.”</p><p>Ryan straightened up and looked at Shane’s arm for a few seconds before reaching out and gently resting his hand against it. Shane closed his eyes and sighed, trying not to think about how after that night nobody would touch him again for another fifty years.</p><p>“You don’t have to tell me,” Ryan said.</p><p>Shane nodded.</p><p>Ryan leaned over the side of the tub and moved his hand from Shane’s arm to his cheek, the spell pouch around his wrist lightly bumping against Shane’s collar. Shane drew in a sharp, audible gasp, and closed his eyes, his back straightening. For a split second it felt like Ryan was about to draw back and Shane immediately covered Ryan’s hand with his own, cradling it against him. Ryan caressed along Shane’s cheekbone with his thumb and the very tip of his fingers brushed against the soft lobe of his ear. Ryan’s hand was strong and warm and Shane nearly sobbed when Ryan didn’t pull away.   </p><p>“Shane?”</p><p>Shane closed his eyes tighter, hating how they watered – hating how he was already mourning Ryan before the night was even over. “I’m reading too much into this.”</p><p>“You might not be,” Ryan said, a smile audible in his voice.</p><p>“No. I know I am.” Shane opened his eyes and saw Ryan staring sadly up at him. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Ryan rubbed his thumb over Shane’s cheek again. “You’re a mysterious person, Shane.”</p><p>“I don’t mean to be.”</p><p>“And I don’t know what’s going on in there,” Ryan said, nodding towards Shane’s head. “But I would like to be there when you’re ready to let someone in. You’re a good person and you deserve better than whatever it is you’re going through.”</p><p>Shane bit his tongue. He couldn’t tell Ryan how afraid he was that if he lived for twenty more lifetimes that he would never find anyone like Ryan ever again. He couldn’t tell Ryan that, after this, the thought of going fifty years without touch was unbearable. As well as he was able to suppress his fears, Shane knew that they never really went away and, in that moment, they felt like they could rip him apart. So he said nothing and didn’t have the strength to hide when tears finally fell.</p><p>Ryan’s brow furrowed and he got up on his knees, water trailing down his body. He dropped his hand from Shane’s cheek and opened his arms. “Come here, big guy.”</p><p>Shane moved a little closer and let Ryan pull him into an embrace, his hands resting lightly over the wounds on Ryan’s back. As they drew each other close, Shane heard the soft thud of the spell bag falling from Ryan’s wrist to the ground. There was a moment when he considered tying it back onto Ryan’s wrist, but as soon as Ryan breathed deep against Shane’s neck Shane reconsidered and instead rested his cheek against Ryan’s hair.</p><p>“I’ve been so caught up on my show and my own investigations and this fucking blizzard,” Ryan said, his voice slightly muffled against Shane’s clothes. “That I forgot to check on you. You’ve been going through all this too. Geez, what kind of a guest am I?”</p><p>“In your defense, I went through a lot of effort to hide this.” Shane let go for only a moment to wipe tears from his eyes and cheeks. “I’ll be alright, Ryan.”</p><p>Ryan lifted his head from Shane’s shoulder and looked up at him. “It’s been a stressful few days.”</p><p>Shane nodded, feeling weak as Ryan cupped the side of his face again. His heart began to race as Ryan looked at his mouth, Ryan lightly biting his own lower lip before coquettishly looking back up at him. With how electric every touch Ryan had given him had been, Shane knew that a kiss would leave him shaking and needy. Already thinking about having to leave Ryan was unbearable, he couldn’t imagine how impossible it would become if they did this.</p><p>Still, Shane closed his eyes and tilted his head as he leaned in towards Ryan. He could feel the warmth of Ryan’s mouth for a split second before Ryan’s sudden, sharp gasp of air. The next instant Ryan fell out of Shane’s arms and Shane opened his eyes as alarmingly hot water spilled against his clothes.</p><p>Ryan had fallen back into the tub and tried to grip at the ledge to pull himself out, but every time he tried to get up he only slipped back in, as if the porcelain was coated with oil. He shouted and Shane could see his golden brown skin turn a bright red in the water. The outside of the tub felt like it had just been pulled from a fire, cracking and steaming madly in the freezing bathroom.</p><p>Without thinking, Shane plunged his hands into the painfully hot water and grabbed a hold of Ryan. In one motion he lifted Ryan out of the tub and onto the cold, tile floor. Ryan fell against Shane, grasping onto him as he trembled and tried to find his balance. Shane lightly cradled Ryan’s head into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him as he looked into the tub. The water had begun to boil, aggressive and loud as a massive cloud of steam shot up into the coldness of the room. Shane watched in horror as the water level lowered, the incredible heat cooking it away.</p><p>Shane glared down into the tub, the roiling bubbles splattering into the room. He tightened his grip on Ryan and shouted down to the water, “Leave him alone!”</p><p>The water kept boiling, hissing as it turned to steam and choked the air.</p><p>“It’s me, alright?! It’s me you want! He has nothing to do with this!”</p><p>And all at once, the chaos stopped. The water settled and the dense clouds of steam dissipated, turning back into a soft mist on top of the bathwater, which was visibly much lower than it had been. All that was left of what had happened was the two of them, standing in the middle of the cold, tile floor and holding onto each other. Slowly, Shane let go and Ryan took a small step back, staring up at him. Shane knelt down and picked up the spell bag, handing it to Ryan before he unfolded a towel and held it out in offering. Ryan refused to take it, looking between Shane and the tub, his lips parting but unable to form words.</p><p>Shane wrapped the towel over Ryan’s bare shoulders, the thick material draping down his body.</p><p>“Ryan?” he said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thankfully, the water in the tub hadn’t been enough to injure Ryan, the bright red patches on his skin fading after a few minutes. Again, the two of them had made themselves comfortable in front of the fireplace and Shane finally properly bandaged the slowly healing scratches on Ryan’s back. The two had been largely silent after leaving the bathroom and it wasn’t until Ryan was bandaged and dressed again, with the spell bag securely tied around his wrist, that Shane knew that he couldn’t put off giving him an answer for much longer.</p><p>There was so much that had happened in that house that Shane could have been able to explain away. The presence of Xander’s library could have been a fantastic find based on a researched hunch. The pendulum didn’t move on its own. The boiler burst because it’s old. Hell, if Shane could have had another hour or so to think he probably could have come up with an answer for the scratches. There may have been a way to explain why the water had suddenly started to boil, but Shane knew that he couldn’t talk his way out of his reaction to it – let alone why the water had seemed to listen to him.</p><p>So much of Shane’s powers he had kept to himself. He was barely in contact with other witches and the closest he had ever been to speaking candidly as one was through the heavily-cultivated and edited persona of Xander. In life he had always been so careful to never reveal himself to anyone and had even gone out of his way to talk as if he agreed with people like Underhill. Everything was performative and he had made sure to never drop character.</p><p>Maybe it was the centuries Shane had spent in social isolation. Maybe it was a lack of practice and the knowledge of a changed world. Or maybe it was because he couldn’t remember the last time he had ever been so furious and so protective.</p><p>Shane sat against the fireplace mantle, and tried to find words as Ryan stared at him. The longer he put it off the more concern colored Ryan’s eyes. For anyone else, Shane may have left them to wonder for the rest of their lives until they doubted their own memory and would one day write it off as an odd dream or a story they had misremembered. But Ryan wouldn’t do that. He may not have known Ryan well, but he knew that Ryan was the sort of man who looked for answers and wouldn’t let a mystery like this rest.</p><p>Not to mention that, after everything that Shane had felt in Ryan’s presence, he felt that he owed it to him.</p><p>Shane sat across the blanket nest from Ryan, who was cross-legged with Obi in his lap, waiting patiently. And then, slowly, carefully, Shane broke the silence.</p><p>“I have something to tell you,” Shane said. “Something I have never told anyone before.”     </p><p>There was a solid minute that followed this when Shane fell quiet again, not sure where to start. After his centuries of existence, Shane had long lost track of where his own story began and what parts were even worth telling.</p><p>“When I asked you to open the well,” Shane finally said, “I knew what was down there. I knew because I ordered it to be constructed when I had this house built in 1649.”</p><p>What followed that was the equivalent of the levees of Shane’s mind crumbling under the weight of memory. Everything that had happened to him spilled out of his mouth and into that room. He talked about how he isolated himself from other witches, afraid that he would be caught and executed with them. He talked about how he started writing letters and how he would use magic to conceal himself as he posted his theses to the church’s proclamation board in the middle of town. He talked about the one time someone had followed him to the house and how he hid in the library, terrified that he would have to fight. He talked about the cough and how he knew he would soon be quarantined and exiled as it became harder and harder to hide the blood and his raspy breaths. He talked about how he had already started to move out of the town when it happened – that one clear night when he awoke outside the Xander house and without a body. He tried to explain as best as he could his years as a spirit and how he figured out how to come back, even for just a few days once every fifty years.</p><p>Shane told him all this and everything else in between, with as much detail as he could speak. At the beginning of the story the room had been cast in late-afternoon sunlight; but by the time he finished the sky was dark. His throat was dry and his tongue hurt and he still felt like there was so much he left out, but it was over.</p><p>To Ryan’s credit, he had sat there, listening to the entire thing without saying a word. There was no judgement and no dismissiveness. In fact, Ryan had barely emoted at all the entire time, save for a sympathetic furrow of his brow as Shane’s voice tightened in anxiety from time to time. Ryan was silent as he listened and he was silent when Shane finished his story.</p><p>Shane absently picked at a loose thread on the blanket as the two of them sat there. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel after that kind of confession. If anything, he expected relief – the burden of a secret finally lifted after so long. But that wasn’t what he felt. Mostly, he was exhausted; but worse, there was a deep dread that told him that he had just made a horrible mistake. In any other situation he would have felt sick with remorse, but he was so close to the end of his three days and so tired from talking that the sickness he would have felt turned instead into a resigned helplessness.</p><p>“Please say something, Ryan.”</p><p>Ryan sighed and looked down at Obi, still curled up in his lap.</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>Ryan bit his lip and breathed deep, his shoulders gently falling and rising. He shook his head.</p><p>That helplessness that Shane had felt settled like a knot in his throat, choking his next words to only come out as a broken whisper. “You think I’m crazy.”</p><p>Ryan’s attention snapped up to Shane, eyes wide but expression immediately softening. He bit his lip in thought for a moment before finally. “I don’t know.”</p><p>Shane nodded.</p><p>“I believe…” Ryan said, voice measured, “…that you believe.”</p><p>Although there was nothing cruel in Ryan’s tone, Shane couldn’t help but feel that he was throwing his own words back at him.</p><p>“So,” Ryan said. “Making sure I understand. You’re a ghost… thing. You come back every fifty years to try to figure out what happened to you. But you can only come back for three days and at the end of the third day you disappear?”</p><p>Shane nodded.</p><p>“And the third day is… early tomorrow morning?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Ryan drummed his fingertips against his knee. “You do realize… if you weren’t Xander, I mean… what ‘disappearing at sunrise’ could sound like? Especially since you were so adamant that I should be picked up by then.”</p><p>Shane thought about this for a second before his eyes widened. “No! Ryan, I’m not… Ryan, I’m not going to kill myself. I just didn’t want to scare you if I… no that makes it sound worse.”</p><p>Shane ran his fingers through his hair and leaned against the sofa, looking into the fire. He already started thinking to himself that next time he would have a convincing lie; that next time he would make the protection charm right away; that maybe next time there wouldn’t be a goddamn blizzard. But even as he planned a voice inside him kept repeating that there would be no “next time.” That perhaps his mystery couldn’t be solved and maybe it would be better to just figure out how to make it all stop.</p><p>Ryan set Obi down onto the blankets and joined Shane against the sofa. There was something about him that had changed in the past few hours – something in his eyes. There was a certain light that used to shimmer in them; Shane saw it in the bathroom and when they were in the library together. And although Shane had known that Ryan wouldn’t feel the same way about him as he did before, it still hurt to see Ryan look at him like he was a complete stranger.</p><p>“I’ll stay up with you,” Ryan said as he settled against the sofa. “I’ll stay awake until dawn and then well into the morning.”</p><p>Shane smiled, breathing a contented sigh as Ryan leaned against him. “Alright.”</p><p>“Then Mark will give you a lift to your place, okay?” Ryan said. “And I can still stay with you if you would like. Whatever you need. I won’t need to head out right away – I’m sure they’re still sorting things out at the airport.”</p><p>Shane nodded, although he knew that things would never come to that.</p><p>Ryan rested his head against Shane’s shoulder. “In the meantime, do you want to go back down to the library? Maybe we can find some answers before Mark comes by. You mentioned wanting more time to look for answers. And… well… there isn’t much else to do.”</p><p>Shane’s eyes widened. With Ryan not believing him he was sure that Ryan would refuse to go back down there. But still… “I’d like that.”</p><p>“I know my being here kinda threw a wrench into what you were planning down there.”</p><p>“It was fine,” Shane assured him. “I really didn’t mind. If anything, I appreciated the company.”</p><p>Ryan smiled up at him, although there was a certain sadness in his eyes that Shane wasn’t used to. He got to his feet and turned, holding a hand out for Shane. “Shall we, big guy?”</p><p>Shane took Ryan’s hand, only barely using it for leverage as he got up. As soon as he stood Ryan wrapped his arms around him and drew him close, cheek resting against Shane’s shoulder. Shane knew that this embrace meant something worlds away from what Ryan had given him before, but he still felt weak.</p><p>He didn’t want to think of what Ryan must have made of him.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The longer the two of them sat in silence in the library the more Shane was able to overanalyze his confession. He supposed he thought that, since Ryan was so willing to accept stories of ghosts and demons, that he might have been more receptive to witches. That, clearly, was not the case. Shane hoped that Ryan thought he was merely delusional, as the other most probable alternative was that Ryan thought Shane was mocking or taking advantage of his genuinely held beliefs.</p><p>Shane had been present for a number of Xander House tours and very clearly remembered every single time some tourist would declare themselves to be Zander’s reincarnation and use the attention to pass around business cards for their psychic shops in town. One of them even did palm readings to drum up business, a small crowd of gullible tourists always following them around. The last thing he wanted was for Ryan to think of him as anything like those people.</p><p>He stretched and used the brief opportunity to look over at Ryan, who was sitting at the old desk. Although Ryan was still clearly concerned, he offered to help Shane go through his journal to see if he overlooked anything. In the meanwhile, Shane was supposed to be going through the few genuine spellbooks he had to look for… he wasn’t sure what. He had been paging through them absently, not sure what he wanted to find. In the centuries of his existence as a spirit, Shane had gone through every book in that library, looking for something that would describe what had happened to him. It just wasn’t there. The witch that had cursed him had clearly been far more powerful; which, compared to Shane, didn’t say much. For all the power and promise that witchcraft could have given Shane, he never really wanted much more than a good potion and a simple charm or two.</p><p>He looked at the clock he kept over the desk. It was nearly five in the morning and soon the blackness of night will begin to turn shades of blue and gray. Although he may not be able to see it, Shane hoped that the sky would turn a soft pink right before dawn, distant clouds outlined in golden light. He was free to imagine that that’s what would happen, but he worried about Ryan. With no chance of Mark or Devin coming by to pick him up before dawn, it began to look more and more like a reality that Ryan would spend his final hours in the Xander house alone. Worse, he would probably spend them worried and looking for Shane; for the first time unwilling to accept the supernatural explanation.</p><p>“Hey, Shane,” Ryan said, looking over his shoulder. “It looks like there’s a few pages missing.”</p><p>Shane pulled himself away from worrying about the inevitable and back to the task at hand. “The last few? Yeah, they were like that ever since I first woke up as a spirit. Whoever did this to me clearly did what they could to erase themselves from the narrative.”</p><p>“So what happened?”</p><p>“The last few days of my life? I… I really don’t remember. I know I had consumption and had left the school. I had already moved out of my place in town, and I… I probably came here to wrap things up or lie low until I found someplace where I could live off the land or something. I remember not really having a plan.”</p><p>“No, I got that,” Ryan said, turning around in the chair. “I mean, what is the very last thing you remember?”</p><p>Shane closed his eyes and tilted his head back in thought. “I was… I was in the kitchen. Someone else was there, I don’t remember who but I remember watching them and waiting until they turned around. I told them to go to the dining room. There were two glasses of mead on the counter. I reached into my pocket and I took out a pearl made of opium powder and dropped it into one of the glasses.” He opened his eyes and looked back at Ryan. “That’s it.”</p><p>“You were drugging someone?” Ryan echoed. “Why?”</p><p>“I don’t remember, I just remember needing to. So I must have thought I was in danger.”</p><p>“In danger of being found out?”</p><p>“Presumably.”</p><p>Ryan sighed and looked back at the journal. “I’m sure you’ve gone through this before, but the journal has a lot of references to ‘letter received.’ You don’t happen to still have those.”</p><p>Shane pointed to the desk drawer and got to his feet, stepping over the small piles of books that he had stacked around himself. He stood by Ryan’s side, watching over his shoulder as Ryan opened the desk drawer and pulled out a stack of folded letters, bound with a bit of string.</p><p>Ryan untied the bundle and unfolded the first letter, reading, “‘Mr. Smith, I am grateful for your aid in this trying time. If you require anything from N___ Ranch, request Miss O___. Good Tidings, T.’”</p><p>“A lot of the ones in there are like that,” Shane said. “The invoices are on the shelf.”</p><p>“Wait, what’s this?”</p><p>Ryan pulled out a letter with a dove drawn on the back in green ink. As he unfolded the paper, a pressed morning glory fell out and onto the desk. Shane quietly sighed and wished that he would have just pointed Ryan to the invoices.</p><p>It would have been better than going through this again.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>The Twentie-ſeventh of October, 1666</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Deareſt ſ.,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I have long awaited to read your words and even now I find my ſelfe weak at your eloquence. Your indignation is as beautiful as it is juſt and I have longed to hear one ſuch as thou be so forceful with thine pen. But yet you hide. True, you hide from the forces of godliness that would caſt you back to hell fire, but in your prudence you have alſo hidden away from me. I – who would be willing to aid you in whetting your craft. I – who would protect you as dutifully as you wiſh to protect all of us. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I deſire to ſpeak with you direct. If this is ſomething you too wish, tie a white ribbond to the trunk of the dark pine at the eaſtern end of the cemetery and I ſhall write you agen.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Until we meet,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Watcher</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Ryan hummed a soft laugh. “Looks like you had an admirer.”</p><p>Shane scratched at the stubble on his cheek. “I don’t think this is related to what I’m looking for. Besides, that letter doesn’t imply admirer. It could mean someone wanted to give witch tips. Or it could have been someone who was also fed up with the church.”</p><p>“Well you must have tied that ol’ white ‘ribbond’ to the pine tree, because there’s another green letter in here.”</p><p>“I promise you I didn’t. I’m more cautious than that.”</p><p>Ryan unfolded the next letter, another morning glory falling out.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>The ſecond of December, 1666</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Deareſt ſ.,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Twice ſince you have now poſted to the public board and yet to my call you have offered no reſponſe. While your caution with the others is perhaps your greateſt protection, in my case it is unfounded. I urge you to reconſider. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>If you remain uncertaine, I ask you to caſt this preſsed flower into the fire and obſerve as it returns to life. I hope that this will be enough to prove my ſelfe to you.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>ſtill beſide the dark pine,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Watcher</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“You never tested it?” Ryan asked, picking up the flower and setting it back between the folds of the page.</p><p>“I separated myself from any other witches for a reason,” Shane said. “One witch in a town is a rumor; anything more than that is the groundwork for mass hysteria.” He looked at the pile of letters. “Besides, a single test proves nothing. I’m sure there a loads of ways to make a dead flower come back to life.”</p><p>Ryan squinted up at Shane. “Are there?”</p><p>“I know nothing about plants, so as far as I’m concerned: sure.”</p><p>“Shane, do you see how suspicious this person sounds? Especially if we approach this as if you were cursed by another witch.”</p><p>Shane rubbed at his face again. “Okay, I know that you want to offer an objective outsider’s opinion, and I appreciate that, but trust me, you don’t need to worry about this bobolyne.” He picked up the stack of letters and leafed through them, the pages with the green ink becoming more and more frequent. “Here, read this one.”</p><p>Ryan took the letter and opened it, another flower falling out.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>The Nineteenth of June, 1669</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Deareſt ſ.,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>You have poſted your words to the people late laſt night. I long to hear you ſpeak your blaſphemy aloud. I wiſh for the moon to caſt her glow on your delicate lips as you recite your theſes to me and me alone. You would give me the world in that moment and, in return, I ſhall gift all the heavenly ſpheres.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>You and I ſhall command all of nature to our whims.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Heart bound to the dark pine,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Watcher</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“Are you sure this person isn’t your admirer?” Ryan asked, carefully replacing the pressed flower.</p><p>“Oh, by that time it was abundantly clear what was going on,” Shane said. “I was just saying that it was hard to tell with the first letter. By this point there had been quite a few ‘moonlight’s and ‘lips’ and I’m sparing you a lot of ‘entwined bodies.’ In fact, I didn’t even mean to show you that letter, I meant to show this one: the last one.”</p><p>Ryan took the last letter and carefully set it down on the desk to open it. However, this time there was no flower inside; just fading green ink written with a thick nib and with a hand nowhere near as delicate as it had been before. There wasn’t even a date at the top.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Deareſt ſ.,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I Love You. I Love You.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I Love You. I Love You. I Love You.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I Love You. I Love You.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Eternally yours,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Watcher</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“Well okay,” Ryan said, sitting back against the chair with a soft <em>thunk</em>. “Okay, I think I see what you mean.”</p><p>“This person is…” Shane’s voice trailed off as he looked down at Ryan. “I mean, I know what you must think of me. But this person is-”</p><p>“-beyond composure?”</p><p>“Exactly,” Shane said. “This is an admirer, yes. But with this letter I doubt that they are able to do a… a fraction of the things they claimed.”</p><p>“That being said, don’t you think that a jilted lover would have the motive to find out how to do something like this?” Ryan asked. “That stuff about ‘I long to hear you speak your blasphemy’ suggests that they aren’t afraid to look for answers in some unsavory places. I mean, blasphemy isn’t witchcraft necessarily, but I know the puritan legal code put both of them higher than murder on their hierarchy of crimes. Were there witch hitmen?”</p><p>“Again, I didn’t really talk to anyone else.”</p><p>“Do you have any idea who wrote these?”</p><p>“No. And, based off of the letters, I don’t think that they even really knew who I was. They only knew of Xander and ‘Mr. Smith.’ I mean, there was nothing to suggest that they knew my day job or what I looked like.”  </p><p>Ryan turned the letter over in his hands a few times. “Was this the last one?”</p><p>“Yeah, I think I got that one in mid-December. Maybe a little earlier th- what are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m just trying to get a better look,” Ryan said, picking up the desk candle and bringing it closer. “The ink fades at the end of each line, I’m just checking to see if there wasn’t something scratched into the page.”</p><p>Shane sighed and leaned against a bookshelf, watching Ryan tilt and squint at the old letter. “I’m not trying to be dismissive,” he said. “I mean, what you suggested had crossed my mind. But I feel that if they were going to curse me like this, wouldn’t they want me to know who they were?”</p><p>“It depends,” Ryan said. “If they’re the malevolent spirit haunting this place, maybe they would rather keep their identity a secret. Plus, practically speaking, they clearly outlived you. If I cursed a known witch and was a witch myself, I wouldn’t want to go around carving ‘Ryan was here’ onto their last known location. That would then make me a target.”</p><p>“Okay, that makes sense.” Shane looked back down to his book of spells. “I sometimes wonder what things would have been like if I were better at this. Knowing me, I probably would have gotten careless and ended up at the end of a noose.” He picked a book off the floor and flipped to the Embodiment of Life spell – the one complex incantation he had been able to teach himself. “I don’t know why they had to do this to me. I mean, what’s the point? I had consumption; they could have just waited.”</p><p>“Maybe they were sick too.”</p><p>Shane shrugged. He flipped through the pages on the off-chance he overlooked something, but stopped when he smelled the scent of burning paper in the air. He turned around and saw Ryan with the letter so close to the candle that he could see the outline of the flame through the page.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing?! Ryan, you’re going to burn this place to the ground! Are you out of your damn mind?!”  </p><p>“Look.”</p><p>Ryan took the paper away from the flame and Shane saw dark brown words appear on the page. They were written across the love confession in a harsh scrawl, but there they were. They read:</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>ALTHOUGH YOU TURNE FROM ME NOW </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>YOUR BREATH AND </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>HEART WILL ſOONE BE MINE</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Under this was a geometric sigil that Shane didn’t recognize. When Shane looked back down at Ryan, Ryan’s eyes were wide and his smile was as broad as it was radiant.</p><p>Ryan turned to Shane, still grinning. “This is full-on Nic Cage <em>National Treasure</em>. Holy shit, did the masons do this to you?”</p><p>Shane rifled through the stack of letters and, one by one, started holding them to the flame. Sure enough, in the lower corner of each letter going back to June of 1669 there was that exact same sigil.</p><p>“What does it mean?” Ryan asked.</p><p>“I… I don’t know. There are very few sigils that have universal meanings, most are just made by individual witches.”</p><p>Ryan picked up Shane’s journal again and flipped through the pages. “Remind me what your June 1669 thesis was about.”</p><p>Shane wheezed a startled laugh. “I don’t know. They all kind of run together. Underhill was probably talking about how happiness is sinful or some bullshit. He never strayed far from message and I probably wrote about how he fed his family on the fearful donations of the congregation. The usual.”</p><p>“Oh, wait. ‘The Twenty-Second of June, 1669,’” Ryan read aloud. “‘I have contracted a frustrating cold that has not progressed beyond a painful, dry cough.’” He looked up at Shane. “You first started showing symptoms of TB after you received the letter with the sigil on it.”</p><p>Shane read and re-read the entry over Ryan’s shoulder, not sure what he was willing to believe. He had thought that he had abandoned this possibility a long time ago. Over the years, Watcher had only proven themselves to be an obsessive and occasionally vulgar admirer; an unwanted correspondence. They just seemed so much more complicated an answer compared to the straightforward Underhill or Haltman.</p><p>“It’s coincidence,” Shane said.</p><p>“Unbelievable.” Ryan picked up the undated note and the June nineteenth letter. “‘Your breath and heart will soon be mine’ written on the last letter before you ‘disappeared’ and accompanied with this sigil, which appeared immediately before you began showing signs of tuberculosis. Shane, do you honestly think this is a coincidence?”</p><p>Shane took the June letter from Ryan’s hand and lightly traced the sigil with his fingertip, as if that were enough to understand it. He tried to picture who would do this, who would write these letters to him even while they cursed him.</p><p>“No,” Shane finally said. “It’s not a coincidence. It’s… it makes sense. I just don’t know what it means, let alone who did it.”</p><p>“Let’s bring this back to your last memory,” Ryan said, getting up. “It sounded like you were serving drinks to your attacker, who clearly wasn’t an immediate threat but you were still untrusting. Because, I’m thinking, if I broke into someone’s house and started, I dunno, demanding things of them… then I wouldn’t leave them alone in the kitchen, would you? They’d come out with a knife or something, right?”</p><p>“Makes sense.”</p><p>“Therefore, your attacker was probably someone you let in. What kind of people would you let in?”</p><p>Shane shrugged. “A fair number of people. That’s how it was in town, people would just drop by. But out here… this place is far enough away from town that someone would only make the trek if they really needed to speak with ‘Mr. Smith.’ But there weren’t many who requested my services who would risk being seen.”</p><p>“What would you have done after drugging whoever was visiting you?”</p><p>“I… I’m not sure. I would have grabbed some stuff from down here, picked up Obi, and left, probably. But if they didn’t wake up… I probably would have gone to the sheriff and told him that they choked to death on a cherry pit.”</p><p>“That was a risk you were willing to take,” Ryan said.</p><p>“Clearly.”</p><p>Ryan looked at the wall of potion ingredients and made his way over, Shane following close behind. He picked up a small glass jar with the word “opium” written on a faded, worn label. Inside was a mound of black powder and eight large, black pearls.</p><p>“Jesus,” Ryan mumbled. “How many poppies did that take?”</p><p>Shane shrugged. “No idea. I had a connection in New Amsterdam who got me whatever I couldn’t buy or grow around here.”</p><p>“Could they be another suspect?”</p><p>“Doubtful. I only met them once. Everything after that was letters and parcels. And I always paid in full.”</p><p>Ryan squinted up at Shane, his brow furrowing. “How much of what you did was through the mail?”</p><p>“A lot? All, really. I obviously couldn’t be here all the time when I was living and working in town. I had this sort of panel next to the door that opened to a little shelf where people could leave things. Whenever I stopped by here I had to make a few laps around the property to make sure that nobody was waiting for me.”</p><p>“The postman was cool with dropping off a bunch of drugs and shit at this house that nobody lived in?”</p><p>“I gave him a few florins to not ask too many questions. Besides, he knew I came here on Sunday evenings and he always stopped by with a few items for ‘Mr. Smith’ on Monday morning before I had to get to the schoolhouse.”</p><p>Ryan looked back at the wall as he put the opium back in its place. “You… you must have received a lot of parcels.”</p><p>“And I sent my fair share. It’s not like Xander could be out there making deliveries by hand.”</p><p>“So… he knew.”</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Shane said. “I mean, he didn’t live in town, so it’s not like he knew my face, let alone that I had two addresses. He didn’t deliver mail, instead he brought in and took out the entire town’s mail. But since this place is so far out and right on his route, he made an exception for ‘Mr. Smith.’”</p><p>“Oh, did he think you were the town apothecary or something?” Ryan asked.</p><p>“Probably.”</p><p>Shane paused, a distant, mumbled conversation echoing in the back of his mind. It grew louder and louder, words becoming clearer and then voices until it became impossible to ignore what words were said and, most importantly, who had said them.</p><p>“No,” Shane said, mostly to himself. “No… he… he couldn’t have thought I was the apothecary. He was the one who told me that Haltman was illiterate. That’s where I heard that. And there was no way he would have thought there were two apothecaries for a place the size of Creedence.”</p><p>It was so simple. But it couldn’t be. If it were, why did it take him centuries to see it?</p><p>Shane turned and went straight to the box he kept under his ledger at the end of the bookshelf. He opened it up and picked up one of the delivery slips, part stamped and part handwritten.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>Date: </em>the ſeventh of April, 1669</p>
  <p><em>This document confirms that </em>Martha Jennings<em> received parcel ſent by </em>John ſmith<em> on </em>the third of March, 1669<em>.</em></p>
  <p>
    <em>ſigned:</em>
  </p>
  <p><em>Recipient – </em>Martha Jennings</p>
  <p><em>Poſtmaſter – </em>Ruth Lexington</p>
  <p><em>Poſtrider – </em>Experience Webber</p>
</blockquote><p>Shane took the paper back to the desk and held it up beside the undated letter. With his eyes and then his fingertips he traced the ‘A’ in ‘April’ and ‘Although’, following the exact same strokes and pressure. There could be countless people who just so happened to write their ‘A’s the exact same way, Shane knew this. However, with what Ryan had found on the paper, Shane knew that he had reached the end of ‘coincidence’ and that only answers remained.</p><p>Ryan had quietly followed Shane and watched as the two papers were set down side by side. He leaned down and read, “‘Experience Webber.’”</p><p>Shane nodded.</p><p>“Did you know he…” Ryan trailed off before gesturing at the stack of letters.</p><p>“Clearly not.” Shane closed his eyes and tried to remember Experience as much as he could, but thinking about him was like trying to remember a dream. His mind only held onto fragments but if he focused on them too closely then the whole would begin to disappear. </p><p>“He must not have made that strong of an impression,” Ryan said. “You didn’t ever mention him before.”</p><p>Shane closed his eyes tight and tilted his head back, as if that were enough to shift the memories back into focus. “No, he made an impression. I mean, I saw him at least once a week for years. When he would come by, it would be as close as I was comfortable with having a social call here. There were few people I actually bothered to know as well as him. He… he talked about his garden a lot. We would sit in the parlor and he would tell me about what was growing and how he wanted to use it and…” A memory hit him, little pieces of it flittering away before he had time to think on it long enough. “He had a small house. Not where he lived, where he wanted to. It was… it was in the Appalachian Mountains – someplace high up. He… he…” Another conversation came back to Shane and hit him like a massive wave. “He asked me to live with him. The spring before I… he asked me to live with him.”</p><p>“This guy wanted you to move in with him and you <em>forgot </em>about him until <em>right now?</em>”</p><p>Shane rubbed at his temple. He had no trouble remembering anyone else from the town. Whatever was happening with his memory had only affected where Experience was in his past. Ryan asking just a few simple questions about the postrider was enough to tug at the proverbial string hard enough to make whatever façade that was covering him begin to unravel.</p><p>Shane turned back to the pile of spellbooks he had left on the floor and picked one up. He was looking for a spell that he had used and referenced so often that simply letting the book fall open in his hands was enough to find the page, complete with notes and sigils scribbled into the margins. When he was learning how to harness his powers Shane had read the page countless times, but he needed to see it again. With his own eyes.</p><p>“‘The Spell of Misrememberence,’” Shane read aloud. “‘Used to manipulate others into forgetting an event recently occurring in the sequence of-’ et cetera. ‘The incantation must be spoken while in the presence of intended target of-’ et cetera, et cetera. Here. ‘Those of whom have had the Spell of Misrememberence cast upon them will either forget the event or perceive the event as a dream or story that had been told to them as opposed to an occurrence existing in reality.’ That’s it.”</p><p>Ryan stood by Shane’s side and looked down at the page. “‘It is important to note that short, singular events are the most successful subjects of this spell. Attempting to cast the Spell of Misrememberence in regards to long-lasting events, repeated events, learned knowledge, or relationships will not be ultimately successful as these are things that can impact countless and unknowable factions of an individual’s life. Without erasing large portions of time, these memories cannot truly be lost.’” Ryan turned to Shane. “You said you lost the last few days of your life.”</p><p>Shane looked from the book to his desk, covered with letters and with his journal lying open. “I did…”</p><p>“I don’t get it,” Ryan said. “Why would he go through all that trouble? All the letters, the spells, asking you to move in… why would he end it all with making you forget him? That doesn’t make any sense to me.”</p><p>“I don’t know either.”</p><p>Shane handed Ryan the book and walked back over to his desk, eyes scanning over everything that had only just recently become clear to him.</p><p>“It’s just so easy,” Shane whispered. “It couldn’t have always been this easy.”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>Shane was about to repeat himself when he heard a crash from upstairs and the muffled but piercing sound of Obi crying and growling. Without any hesitation, Shane ran past Ryan and out the door to the well, climbing hand over hand towards the top. In his haste, Shane misstepped a foothold and slipped against the stone. The small ledge that he had a hold of was slightly damp, which was just enough to make his fingers start to slip under his weight. Then, for the first time in 365 years, he fell.</p><p>Shane’s stomach lurched as his hands dragged helplessly down the wall. He instinctively put his hands out to brace himself and tensed in shock when, as soon as they broke the surface of the water, they hit something soft. What they hit was a false-bottom to the well, made out of wood with a few inches of standing water set on top of it. The wood had rotten over the years; and Shane’s hands fell through it as if it were nothing but thick mud, which wasn’t far off from what it had become. He gasped in shock as he kept falling, the circle of light at the top of the well growing smaller and smaller.</p><p>When Shane finally hit the water it swallowed him whole. The impossibly cold waters surrounded Shane, and made every muscle in his body tense in shock. He was so cold he couldn’t move, his lungs already burning with the need for air. Although he could hardly feel his limbs, Shane fought the coldness of the water and the weight of his clothes, swimming to the surface. He gasped for air and clung to the uneven rocks that made up the walls of the well. As slender as he was, his heavy clothes had kept him from going into complete shock, but as he clung to the wall he could feel them try to drag him downwards.</p><p>“Shane!”</p><p>Shane looked up to see Ryan appear in the entrance to the hidden library. He opened his mouth to call back, but he was too cold to draw in a breath deep enough to speak.</p><p>“Shane!”</p><p>A few deep gulps of air. “Help!”</p><p>“H-Hold on!”</p><p>Shane watched as Ryan climbed out of the well and disappeared into the basement. Careful not to move to recklessly for fear of losing his strength, Shane felt along the wall for some sort of foothold. While he dragged his hand over the wall Shane felt an odd notch carved into the side of one of the rocks. It wasn’t too unlike the notch on the well door leading to the hidden library. He pulled and, just as the door had done several yards above him, a large cluster of rocks lifted as one away from the side of the well.</p><p>Behind that door was a small landing and, just like the library, a second door. However, this one was unlike anything Shane had ever encountered. It was a plain, metal door with a hand imprint pressed into the middle of it. Shane pulled himself up onto the landing and dragged himself to his feet, shivering.</p><p>“Shane?”</p><p>Shane leaned over into the well and looked up at Ryan. “I found something but I still can’t get out.” His eyes widened and he straightened up, realizing something. “Is Obi alright?”</p><p>“He’s fine, just got spooked when some plates fell off their display rack,” Ryan called back. “What about you? You okay?”</p><p>“I… I should be.”</p><p>“Would you like me to come down? Or should I try calling for h-”</p><p>“-Come down. I found something.”</p><p>Shane tensed as his soaking wet clothes clung to him, the cold air stinging his skin. As he watched Ryan use the long electrical cable to climb down the well Shane wondered if he could even get back out. However, as close to dawn as they were, the point was probably moot.</p><p>He looked at the door. As much as he dreaded the fast-approaching sunrise, it did force him to realize that he didn’t have much time to solve this new mystery. As far as he knew, the well did not exist before the house and nobody else oversaw its construction. No owner of the house had ever done anything with the well other than board it up and seal it.</p><p>As he heard Ryan get closer, Shane reached out and placed his hand over the handprint on the middle of the door. To his surprise, it lined up with him perfectly, his fingertips resting easily and exactly into the shallow indentations. It was like the metal door embraced his hand, growing warm against his palm. It was then that he heard a soft click and the heavy door swung open with the gentle pressure of his resting hand.</p><p>The room was lined with candles and tall candelabras, all burning as if they had only just been lit. On the far end of the room, surrounded by vases overflowing with vibrant flowers, was a casket.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Shane, what is this?”</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“I thought you knew everything about this house.”</p><p>Ryan’s words stung, the incredulous tone in his voice telling Shane all he needed to know about what Ryan thought of him. He supposed he should feel fortunate that he had managed to keep his patience with him for this long.</p><p>“I wasn’t lying to you,” Shane said. “I have never seen this room before.”</p><p>Ryan rubbed at his face. “Shane it is very late and today has been very confusing, please just tell me what is going on.”</p><p>“Please believe me, I don’t know.” Shane looked around the room. “This tomb doesn’t have much in it. I… I’ll come back here and investigate on my own time, if you don’t want to stay down here.”</p><p>“Good.” Ryan took a steadying breath and closed his eyes. “Shane, I don’t know what to believe anymore. I… I’m upset. For the first time I think I know what it’s like to be a skeptic and I really don’t like it. I don’t want to think that you already knew this was here. And I really don’t want to think that you invented Experience and made an elaborate series of clues that led to him. I don’t want to think any of that… but, Shane, right now it makes more sense to me than any supernatural alternative.”</p><p>“Ryan-”</p><p>“-And I am trying not to be upset. I really am.” He opened his eyes and looked up at Shane, his expression softening. “I’m glad you’re okay.”</p><p>Shane nodded, wanting to speak but the words caught in his throat. No matter what he could say, Shane couldn’t see himself being able to make this better by sunrise. He would return to his spiritual form, already mourning Ryan’s memory and Ryan most likely relieved that their shared isolation was finally over. Would he even look for him?</p><p>“Are you ready to go back up?”</p><p>Shane looked around the room once more, his eyes settling on the casket. “I just need to see something. Then I’ll go back up.”</p><p>Ryan followed Shane’s line of sight, staring at the casket and flowers blankly for a few seconds before, “Alright.”</p><p>Shane approached the casket, carefully stepping around the smaller vases. As he got closer he could see small, intricate patterns carved into the wood and Danse Macabre images of skeletons and crows. It was all so ornate that, for a moment, Shane was repulsed by its excess. An ornate sigil of knotted lines adorned the top of the casket, no words scratched into its surface. He ran his hand over the smooth wood, taking his time to feel the grooves of the patterns before taking a grip on the lid of the casket and raising it. As Shane looked inside a knot of dread tied itself in his stomach and he felt the blood drain from his face.</p><p>There were two bodies inside the coffin. One was what looked to be a man, his pale skin tight around bones and his clothing loose around him. His eyes were gone and his mouth gaped open, showing white teeth and gums that had turned brown with age.</p><p>The second body was Shane’s.</p><p>He looked just like Shane did in that moment; if anything, he may have looked even more lifelike – a soft blush tinting his cheeks. The body lay on his back, as if here were only sleeping. His hands were clasped together over his stomach, holding a short, sharp dagger. The skeletal corpse that shared the casket lay partially on top of him, bonelike hand resting on top of Shane’s chest.</p><p>“Shane?” Ryan asked, still lingering by the door. “What is it?”</p><p>Shane reached out and hovered his hand over his own body, not sure what would happen if he tried to touch. Even if he had time to investigate this place, Shane felt that he still wouldn’t understand what he was seeing - let alone what it meant. Despite what else was there, he tried to focus on the corpse that lay beside his own still body, raking his uncertain memories to recognize the clothes. Although he couldn’t say for certain, Shane couldn’t imagine that the body he shared a casket with could be anyone but Experience.</p><p>“Holy shit.”</p><p>At hearing Ryan’s voice Shane quickly closed the casket, turning to see Ryan standing not that far away from him. But he was too late. Ryan reached out and lifted the casket lid himself, once again revealing the two bodies.</p><p>“What the fuck, Shane?”</p><p>“Ryan, I don’t know what-”</p><p>“What the <em>fuck</em>, Shane?!”</p><p>Ryan drew back, releasing the casket lid and letting it fall shut with a harsh crash that jostled the flowers around it. He stared up at Shane, eyes boring into him and his lips pursed into a frown. There was such anger and such discomfort in Ryan’s eyes that he was barely recognizable from the man Shane knew him to be.</p><p>“You’re sick,” Ryan said. “You are sick. What the fuck is this, Shane?”</p><p>“I don’t k-”</p><p>“-No! No! You don’t get to say that to me anymore!” Ryan looked to the casket and then to the door leading back out to the well. “I can’t do this. I’m not playing this game anymore.”</p><p>“It’s not a game.”</p><p>“Shane, please!” The stress and tension in Ryan’s voice made him sound like he was seconds away from tears. “After you told me that you thought you were Xander, I wanted to help you. I wanted to let you live in your fantasy for a while and then in the morning make sure you got home safely. And Shane, I would have done just that. And I would have checked in on you after this was all over. I would have helped you get the actual help you needed. But this…” He gestured at the casket. “Shane, I can’t do this.”</p><p>Shane took a step closer to Ryan, his heart aching when Ryan just as quickly took a step back. “Ryan… it’s still me.” He glanced back to the casket and then to Ryan. “Please believe me when I tell you I didn’t do this.”</p><p>“Shane, I can’t believe in anything anymore!” Ryan was shouting, the strain in his voice breaking. “Any of this. Any of this house. None of it’s real. It’s all stories, Shane! They’re just make-believe stories about a man we wanted to exist. <em>I</em> wanted him to exist. But I don’t- I can’t anymore. I just want to move on.”</p><p>Shane furrowed his brow, wanting to step closer again but holding himself back. “I know how you feel.”</p><p>“No. No, Shane, you don’t.” Ryan rubbed at his face and breathed deep and shaking. “I’m done with this. We’re going to go back upstairs and sit in the parlor until Mark comes.”</p><p>Shane stood in silence. They were running out of time before dawn, and he couldn’t think of any way to explain to Ryan that he really would disappear in the morning. However, as much as Shane wanted Ryan to understand the truth, in that moment he just wanted Ryan to feel safe around him again.</p><p>He quietly nodded.</p><p>“Okay,” Ryan said, drawing in another slow, deep breath.</p><p>He began to move towards the door to the well when he paused and looked down. The spell bag still dangled from his wrist, swinging gently with the motion of his body. He looked to Shane again before carefully untying the bag and handing it to him.</p><p>“I can’t indulge this anymore,” Ryan said, rubbing at his bare wrist as he stepped away. “I’m sorry, Shane.”</p><p>Shane shook his head and tried to hand it back to Ryan. “Ryan, please. I would feel better if you-“</p><p>“I would have,” he said, a certain hardness to his voice keeping Shane from asking again. “Before this… I would have.”</p><p>Again, Shane was quiet.</p><p>“I’ll… erm…” Ryan worried his lip in thought for a moment. “After this is all over, I’ll help you find someone you can talk to about this. And I’ll keep in touch, but I think we’ll need some time apart. This is… it really was too much.”</p><p>They were running out of time. This was, for Shane, all the more reason to make sure that his last conversation with Ryan was something other than an argument. It was why, despite his own confusion about what had happened to him, Shane answered:</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>Ryan breathed out slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he furrowed his brow in thought. Eventually he lowered his hand and nodded. “You’ll be alright, Shane.” He smiled, although everything about it looked bittersweet. “Let’s go.”</p><p>Ryan turned back to the door, but as soon as he did it slammed shut; the gust from the motion blowing out the nearby candles. The two of them froze, staring at the door, which they at that moment realized had no handle. Ryan was the first to react and rushed to the door, digging his nails into the thin seam between the heavy metal door and the wall.</p><p>“Shane, how do we get out?”</p><p>“I…”</p><p>“Shane!”</p><p>“I don’t know!”</p><p>“What the fuck do you mean you don’t k-”</p><p>Ryan cut himself short and suddenly stopped struggling with the door, his shoulders tense. There were a few seconds where he didn’t even breathe, his body perfectly still. Then he began to lift into the air.</p><p>Shane barely noticed it at first. It started slowly, Ryan only hovering about an inch above the ground. But then he lurched upwards about a foot. Then another. He was able to move again, but all he could do was draw in his feet and arms, as if he could somehow retreat from what was happening to him. He looked to Shane, his eyes wide and lips parted as he drew in silent, trembling gasps of air. Then, as if gravity had completely shifted for Ryan, he was thrown across the room and into the wall. The tall, iron candelabras clattered against each other as Ryan fell on top of them in a heap, groaning in pain.</p><p>Shane rushed over to Ryan’s side and grabbed him by the wrist, tying the spell bag back in place. Ryan tried to pull away but could do little more than back into the wall while Shane secured the leather cord.</p><p>Shane looked around the room, empty except for them, the casket, the flowers, and the candles. “I told you to leave him alone! It’s me you want, isn’t it? Well, I’m right here!”</p><p>The door rattled in its frame, its shaking quickly turning into a low vibration. “I didn’t like the way he spoke to you,” the rattling said.</p><p>A chill crept along Shane’s arms as he listened and watched. Out from under the door a black smoke began to seep into the room; first as dark plumes and then as a thick cloud. The dense black fog began to take shape, just as it had in the hallway outside the parlor. However, this time instead of remaining as a silhouette, the figure began to solidify and become the detailed image of a man.</p><p>The man couldn’t have been too much older than Shane and was just a few inches shorter. His cheeks were gently rounded and his eyes were as brilliantly blue as an arching electric current. Although he looked and moved as a human, Shane immediately recognized him as the mummified corpse that lay beside his own body in the casket. What’s more, he recognized his face from a past that had grown so distant that the once familiar world around him had turned into a dreamlike haze.</p><p>Shane got to his feet. “I don’t think that ‘not liking the way he talked to me’ was the reason the other times, Experience.”</p><p>Experience smiled, the harshness of his eyes momentarily fading. His voice was soft and low with a warmth to it that Shane found unsettling. “You’re starting to remember.”</p><p>“I remember that, whatever you’re going to tell me, I don’t want to have this conversation.”</p><p>His smile faded. “You have no idea what I could offer you.” He looked down at Ryan. “I have to say that I’m impressed. After all this time, you were still able to craft a protection spell so strong that even I couldn’t overwhelm it. You have your limited library, but no book ever written can possibly encapsulate what it is <em>you </em>have been able to do with potions. I’ve told you before, you have no idea of the limits of your potential.”</p><p>“Yeah, well unless you’re about to offer me a publishing deal I’m not interested.”</p><p>Experience’s eyes were still locked with Ryan, who had clamored to his feet, clutching the spell bag close to his chest. “There’s that humor,” he said, without fondness or malice. “Shane Madej’s trademark coping mechanism: unscathed by time. Why is he so worried about you?” he said to Ryan. “What is it about you?”</p><p>“Because he’s innocent,” Shane said, stepping between the two men. “I told you that he has nothing to do with this.”</p><p>“Had,” Experience corrected before turning and opening the casket. “If you’ll excuse me, dawn is within the hour and I’d rather not stand around here talking all night.”</p><p>He reached down and lightly touched the head of Shane’s unconscious body, his fingers delicately lacing into his hair. Instinctively, Shane put his hand over the same spot on his own head, as if that could stop him from seeing Experience caress him.</p><p>“For the longest time,” Experience said, “I was sure that you had only forgotten the conversation. I mean, you used that misremembering spell so often that it was inevitable that you would have used it then. But I never expected you to censor your own journal and indiscriminately erase entire weeks from your memory, just to avoid me.”</p><p>“In which case,” Shane said, “It would probably be best to let sleeping dogs lie.”</p><p>“Not for another fifty years,” Experience said. “I’m stuck here too, you know. And now that you two so helpfully directed me to your notes, I can finally reverse this spell.” He hesitated and looked up at Shane. “Don’t feel too bad about it, you did manage to hang on for a <em>very</em> long time.”</p><p>The next moment hit Shane with what felt like a physical force. It was as if Experience had materialized again, even though he was still standing, physically unchanged, right in front of him. Shane turned to Ryan and suddenly felt sick with dread, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. Memories and thoughts overwhelmed him and it was nearly impossible to tell truths from opinions or fears as they all shouted at him at once.</p><p>“Shane?” Ryan asked, lightly taking him by the arm as Shane tried to physically recoil from the words that flooded his mind. “Shane, what’s happening?”</p><p>“He…” Shane closed his eyes tight as he mentally waded through his memories. “He asked me to live with him. <em>Again</em>, he asked me to live with him. As a treatment for consumption, he wanted me to distance myself from the world and live with him in that house in the mountains.”</p><p>“It would have been an effective treatment,” Experience said. “It became a scientifically validated approach to treating consumption in the coming centuries.”</p><p>“Except he didn’t have tuberculosis, you son of a bitch,” Ryan said. “You cursed him.”</p><p>Experience tilted his head from side to side in thought. “Yes, you did find that, didn’t you?” His eyes settled on Shane. “I wouldn’t have needed to if you would have agreed earlier. You didn’t even know what was waiting for you there.”</p><p>“I didn’t want you helping me with my ‘craft,’” Shane said. “Or anything else, for that matter.”</p><p>“Isolation was the only thing waiting,” Ryan offered, earning himself a sharp glare from Experience.</p><p>“You oversimplify,” he said. “Why are you so invested? He’s ‘sick,’ isn’t he?” Experience turned his attention back to Shane. “Say what you want about me, but at least I’m consistent. His opinion of you seems to change on a dime.”</p><p>Shane shook his head. “The world has changed.”</p><p>“Not that much.”</p><p>“No, you don’t understand. I mean <em>we</em> don’t exist anymore.” Shane stepped closer to Experience. “There are no more witches, no more trials, no more sneaking around the town square at midnight. It’s over. We can’t exist in this world anymore. And he’s…” Shane gestured at Ryan, trying to find words. “He’s seeing something that nobody has in centuries. Even back then there were those who were reluctant to believe in us, can you imagine how impossible we are now?”</p><p>Experience’s expression softened again. “Shane, do you hear yourself? Do you hear what you’re implying?”</p><p>Shane said nothing, although he did back away again, not liking the new direction this was heading.</p><p>“Shane?” Ryan asked. “What <em>are </em>you implying?”</p><p>Experience looked back towards the casket and drew in a long, slow breath. “I never faulted Shane for erasing his own memory. After all, there were plenty of moments that any man would want to forget. Did you know I first met him fishing him out of the river? I dragged him to shore and took the stones from his pockets.”</p><p>“But what about now?” Shane asked. “How many more lifetimes are you going to force me to live before you finally let it stop? Who wouldn’t be looking for a way out at this point?”</p><p>“I haven’t,” Experience said. “You said you needed time to reconsider my offer. For the longest while I thought that you just couldn’t remember it; not that you couldn’t remember me at all.”</p><p>“You’ve been waiting for 350 years? Experience, it’s passed. The house probably isn’t even there anymore.”</p><p>“This isn’t about the house.”</p><p>“Clearly.”</p><p>“Shane,” Experience said, the word coming out as a soft breath as he stepped in close to Shane. “We may not exist, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t. He may not understand us, but that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t be understood. We do belong, Shane. People like us belong in this world. Without fear. Without shame.” He took Shane by the hand, his skin cold and ashy to the touch. “Do you understand?”</p><p>Shane looked down, examining the way Experience’s palm surrounded his fingers. “We don’t see the world in the same way.”</p><p>“We don’t need to. But I would do anything to make the world you see a little better.” He took Shane’s arm in his other hand and spoke quietly, “I love you. You know I love you. I would do anything to make things better for you. You don’t need to love me back, I just don’t want things to end the way you were going to have them end that night.”</p><p>“‘That night?’” Ryan echoed. Shane looked over at him as Ryan’s eyes widened in realization. “You mean… the opium?”</p><p>Experience dropped his gaze down to Ryan. “You didn’t think that was for me, did you? I know you hardly know the man, but you surely can’t imagine that he would ever actually hurt anyone, can you?” He looked back up at Shane, his eyes catching the light of the candles around them. “From what I heard, you never even raised your voice at your students.”</p><p>Shane furrowed his brow sadly and finally entwined his and Experience’s fingers together. “You can’t fix this, Experience. We need to stop.”</p><p>“Was it because you felt powerless?” he pressed on. “That’s what you told me when I found you in the river. This can change. Shane, you have so much potential. You could have had anything you wanted. You still can.”</p><p>Shane backed away. “I was profoundly drunk that night.”</p><p>“Tell me what kind of life you wanted,” Experience said, rubbing his thumb over Shane’s knuckles. “I can give it to you.”</p><p>“You know,” Ryan said, his voice a wedge between Shane and Experience, “the life he wanted probably didn’t involve being cursed so that he coughed so much he started bleeding and thinking he had tuberculosis.”</p><p>Experience’s eyes flashed to black in the flickering candlelight as he let go of Shane and approached Ryan, who backed up against the wall. “What do you know of him? You weren’t there. You never knew him! Hell, you’re just like everyone else. You only remember his penname and you tell his story like it’s nothing more than just that: a story. He’s not some sideshow for you to gawk at and try to explain away with your cameras and divination boards and that fucking radio. That’s something you seem to be struggling with, but it’s what I have known since the moment I met him.” Experience looked down at the spell bag around Ryan’s wrist. “If you weren’t wearing that I would have already let you know what I really think of you. It’s the same as what I think of anyone who treats him with anything less than the respect he deserves.” He clenched his teeth in thought, drawing in a sharp, cold breath. “I would have already done to you what I did to Underhill.”</p><p>Shane looked back to the casket, approaching it. When his memories first returned they felt like a thousand hammers falling from the sky, but now he was finally able to make sense of it. So much of what had happened around his disappearance fell into place so easily now that he could remember who Experience was. As much as Shane didn’t want to admit it to himself, he knew that there was a time when he felt drawn to Experience in return. Even though that was more of a starved need for affection than the suffocating love Experience felt towards him, he couldn’t deny that Experience was the person he had turned to.</p><p>“Shane,” Experience said, still not looking away from Ryan, “we could start that life right now.”</p><p>“Maybe not,” Ryan said. “This really isn’t the best time to be jumping back into the world.”</p><p>“We needed another life,” Experience pressed on, ignoring Ryan’s interjection. “Another human life. As you can see, Shane’s fine in his casket. However, I’m a little worse for wear. Unfortunately, my powers do have their limits and to come back I’ll need some… components.”</p><p>Shane looked up from his trancelike staring into the casket, his brow furrowed. “You’re talking about human sacrifice.”</p><p>“‘Sacrifice’ sounds so barbaric,” Experience said as he stared down Ryan. “I prefer ‘offering.’ Of course, this is a spell that only Shane can complete. Just like how I used Underhill to preserve Shane, life can only be gifted from one to another.”</p><p>Ryan scoffed. “He wouldn’t. You already said that he wasn’t capable of hurting anyone, so why would he do this? Especially for you?”</p><p>“He would,” Experience said, an unquestioning certainty in his voice. “I’ve tried to make it easy for him before. He would never mean to hurt an innocent person, but if he accidentally killed a child then it would be merciful to take their grieving parent.”</p><p>Shane felt his stomach drop with realization.</p><p>
  <em>The girl had never slept easy and had only stepped outside to investigate what was happening with the stick under the maple tree. It was an accident.</em>
</p><p>Feeling sick, Shane looked back into the coffin and at his body, hating how he now understood why he had been buried with a dagger in his hands.</p><p>He knew that there was no connection between his current form and his true body, but if he focused hard enough he could just barely feel the weight of Experience’s bones resting on top of him. He wondered what it was like before Experience’s body wasted away; back when the hand resting over Shane’s chest had a pulse running through it.</p><p>“They would still be innocent,” Ryan said.</p><p>“Which is more than you are,” Experience said. “But then, you already know what I think of you and your camera. And then the way you insulted him after he put his trust in you; that’s unforgivable.”</p><p>“You still haven’t given me a reason for why he would do this for <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Experience forced a laugh and smiled, although not with his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Because I’m the only one who can wake him up again.”</p><p>Ryan swallowed hard and held on tight to the spell bag. He took a step away and stumbled over one of the tall, iron candelabras. The room darkened as a few more candles were knocked to the floor with a deafening clatter and Ryan gasped in shock and pain as he once again fell to the floor.</p><p>“That’s-”</p><p>“Experience?” Shane interrupted, turning with the dagger in his hand. “How do I do this?”   </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You still haven’t given me a reason for why he would do this for <em>you</em>.”</p><p>As Ryan and Experience argued Shane gazed down into the casket and tried to separate himself from the dreamlike sensation of watching his own body. His thoughts were still with the bonelike hand on his chest, its fingers like a cage over his heart. Thinking of it that way was enough to make Shane reach down and try to move Experience’s arm away, but, as he lifted it, Experience’s entire body shifted, stiff with death. Although moving him was fruitless, there was something Shane saw in that brief moment that made one final piece of his puzzle fit into place.</p><p>He knew who had cursed him and why, but he still didn’t know why he had never been able to leave the property in 350 years. It had clearly been part of the curse, but he didn’t know how. Then he saw it. It was nearly invisible against Shane’s dark clothes and the dim candlelight, but there, driven into his heart and hidden under Experience’s hand, was the flat, iron head of a nail. Shane slipped his hand between Experience’s and his chest and felt the shallow lines of some sigil etched into the iron.</p><p>“Isn’t it obvious?” Experience asked, his voice incredulous.  “Because I’m the only one who can wake him up again.”</p><p>Shane needed to examine the nail but knew that Experience would never let him do anything as long as his spirit was in the room with him. Although he wasn’t sure if any plan would work and he knew he was running out of time, Shane felt he had to do something. And as the candles crashed to the floor under Ryan’s clumsy footing, Shane took a hold of one of Experience’s bonelike fingers and snapped it off of his hand. The torn flesh under it was dry and frayed like the edges of a battered book. It repulsed him, but Shane managed to conceal the finger in his palm as he lifted the dagger from his own hands.</p><p>Acknowledging that he couldn’t turn back now, Shane closed the casket and turned to the two men.</p><p>“That’s-” Ryan started, although Shane couldn’t let him finish.</p><p>“Experience?” Shane interrupted, the dagger in his hand. “How do I do this?”   </p><p>Experience turned to Shane, genuine surprise in his expression as he approached him. “Shane, are you positive? I mean… I know this is a lot for you.”</p><p>He reached out to take the dagger but Shane pulled away, afraid that touching it might make the broken finger pinned between his palm and the hilt slip from his grasp.</p><p>“This is a big step,” Experience said, instead putting his hand on Shane’s shoulder and gently massaging down his arm. “I know this is very new to you, but I can’t say that I’m not relieved that you are finally able to see the value your life has. Once this is done, we can get back to how things should be. Not only will you be able to write again, but together you and I will be able to put a powerful, tangible force behind your words.” He turned to consider Ryan, backed up against the wall. “Think of all the corruption we can correct. You’re right, the modern world doesn’t know how to handle witches; and we can make this work to our favor. Nobody will suspect what we can even do.”</p><p>Shane also looked down at Ryan, Ryan’s eyes wide with terror.</p><p>“Just tell me what I need to do,” Shane said.</p><p>Ryan pressed his back against the wall, his chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. “Shane, please. I… I believe you. I believe all of this. And I can help you. I’ll take time off to help you. Just don’t do this.”</p><p>Experience scoffed. “Why should he trust you? You would say anything right about now, wouldn’t you? If you thought it could save your life, at least.”</p><p>“I meant it!”</p><p>Experience shook his head. “You don’t even know each other.” He turned his attention to Shane. “There’s no specific method that the spell requires. He just needs to die and you have to be responsible for it.”</p><p>“Then I’ll be quick,” Shane said, stepping over the fallen candelabras as he approached Ryan. “I just want to speak with him first.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>As Shane drew closer Ryan began to tremble, choking on the frightened tears that brimmed in his eyes. Neither of the men noticed when Shane moved his dagger to his other hand, the first hand grasping around the narrow finger. Shane crowded Ryan, leaning down as if he was going to kiss him on the cheek. As soon as Shane was close enough, he slipped the piece of Experience’s corpse into Ryan’s pocket.</p><p>“Shane, please. Please, Shane, don’t do this. I would do anything.”</p><p>“Don’t beg,” Shane ordered.</p><p>Ryan tried to squirm away, but Shane grasped him by the arm. For a few seconds it made Ryan struggle harder, but soon he was overwhelmed by panic and began to sob. It took all of Shane’s self-control to keep himself from instinctively trying to comfort him.</p><p>“This isn’t you,” Ryan said, his voice uneven and cracking as he spoke through his tears. “This isn’t you.”</p><p>“Ryan.”</p><p>Shane leaned down again, this time turning so his lips were only the smallest breadth away from Ryan. They were so close that Shane could feel Ryan’s pulse racing between them. Following suit as he felt Shane’s breath ghost against the shell of his ear, Ryan turned and buried his face against Shane’s neck. The sensation made Shane freeze as he forced himself to not wrap his arms around Ryan.</p><p>“In the shed,” Shane whispered, “there is a deer. I just put something in your right pocket. Put it in the deer’s mouth before dawn and make sure the daylight touches the animal. Do you understand?”</p><p>There was a moment of hesitation that must have only lasted for a second but felt like it dragged on well past the limits of what Experience’s patience should be. Then Ryan nodded.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Ryan,” Shane said, a little louder as he pulled away from Ryan’s ear. “But I want you to know this is for the greater good.”</p><p>Shane grabbed Ryan by the hair and guided him away from the fallen candelabras, the flat of the knife pressed against his side. Ryan gasped and staggered as he followed Shane, his legs unsteady and trembling.</p><p>“I’ll be quick,” Shane said, positioning himself between Experience and Ryan. “There won’t be much pain.” He let go of Ryan’s hair and gently cupped his cheek in his palm, wiping a tear away with his thumb. “Be brave for me.”</p><p>He turned Ryan around and wrapped a hand around his throat, the other hand positioning the dagger so the point was resting on the back of Ryan’s neck and directly at the base of his skull. “It’ll be over quickly,” Shane said, making sure that Ryan was squarely facing the door.</p><p>Shane subtly let go of Ryan’s throat and focused his attention on the door. It was heavy and unfamiliar, but, judging by the handprint on the outside, it was made for him. As a spirit, Shane had always struggled manipulating the world around him. Everything felt like it was orders of magnitude heavier than it should be, often preventing him from moving anything at all. And Shane had never even tried to move things psychically when he had a physical form. However, he knew that he needed to try with this door. In focusing on it, he could feel the cold metal underneath his fingertips. He imagined himself on the other side of the door, fitting his hand into the indentation and pushing. Pushing and pushing, Shane was so focused on it that his hand began to seize up and ache, veins pronounced all the way down his arm.</p><p>The door, barely, just barely, shifted away from its frame.</p><p>Then it flew open, the gust of wind rustling the flowers and blowing out the remaining candles.</p><p>“Go, Ryan! Go!”</p><p>Shane let go of Ryan and he bolted out of the room and climbed the dangling cable upwards and out of the well. Shane spun around and pointed the dagger at Experience.</p><p>“If you hurt him again I swear to God or Satan or whatever the fuck’s out there that I will never forgive you.”</p><p>Experience looked down at the dagger before turning and lighting the candles around the casket with a small flame that formed between his hands.</p><p>“Do you understand me?!” Shane shouted.</p><p>Experience turned and glanced down at the dagger before looking up at Shane. “It was too much. I know.” He waved his hand and the fallen candelabras righted themselves. “You had your memories returned, you had your questions answered. A lot happened tonight. I don’t blame you for not being ready for it.”</p><p>“He leaves here unharmed.”</p><p>Experience sighed and gave Shane a soft smile. “If that is what you wish.” He gently took the dagger from Shane’s hands and placed it on top of the casket before turning to him again. “If you weren’t ready then you weren’t ready. That’s alright. I’m not here to rush you.”</p><p>Shane stared down at Experience, angry and confused and his heart still racing.</p><p>“I’m not upset,” Experience said, taking Shane’s hands in his again. “I’m hurt. Hurt that you don’t trust me after I had looked after you for this long. But I’m not upset. And this doesn’t change how I feel.” He sighed. “We’ll just try again.”</p><p>“W-What?”</p><p>“Now that you have your memories back,” Experience said, “you will be able to actually consider my offer. And then, in fifty years’ time, you can come back down here and maybe things will be different.”</p><p>Shane shook his head. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Experience.”</p><p>“You feel that way now,” Experience said. “But you know I can’t just let you end it; that’s what I’ve been trying to prevent all this time.”</p><p>Shane was at a loss for words. The thought of being trapped in limbo until he took some life other than his own made him feel sick. He was so sure that his defiance would have been met with a fury that he would need to protect Ryan from, but he didn’t anticipate this.</p><p>It was worse, somehow.</p><p>“Things can’t stay the same forever,” Experience said. “And I don’t mind the wait. I am used to waiting.”</p><p>Experience pulled Shane down a few inches so he could kiss him on the cheek. The touch was cold, soft, and incredibly familiar. For a moment, everything about this was familiar. He had stood in that room before, he was kissed before, and he had heard the words “I am used to waiting” spoken by that voice. The echoes of that moment rang in Shane’s ears and he pulled away.</p><p>“How many times have I come down here, Experience?”</p><p>“Six.”</p><p>Shane backed away. “Every… every time?”</p><p>“Except when you cut things short fifty years ago, yes.”</p><p>“I can’t remember… I can’t remember any of it. What the hell did you do to my memory?”</p><p>Experience forced a laugh, his expression still soft. “Shane, listen to yourself. Listen to how distraught you are over this. If you remembered every time then this room would be nothing but confused trauma. So of course I erased some things, just because I don’t want your resurrection to be something painful. At least now we know the cause of your confusion, so next time will be different.”</p><p>“What could make it different?”</p><p>“Well, you won’t have to go digging around the library looking for your own memories, for starters. That’s all in your head now. In fact, there’s no reason for you to remember any of the past few days now that you know all you need to. Let’s just put this messy encounter and Ryan and his ghost hunting behind us. I think that will work out better for everyone.” </p><p>“I don’t want to forget R-”</p><p>“-Shane. He’s never coming back.” Experience squeezed Shane’s hand before turning back to the coffin. “Don’t you think that forgetting would be easier for you?”</p><p>Shane lowered his head, remembering the dread he felt when he had considered that he may never see Ryan again. How afraid he was of that kind of pain. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Of course it would be,” Experience said. He picked up the dagger and opened the coffin to put it back in its place when he suddenly stopped. “I know you don’t believe me, but I can handle rejection.”</p><p>Shane looked back up and then, realizing what Experience must have seen, his blood ran cold.</p><p>“But you still shouldn’t have lied to me, Shane. It all could have ended so nicely if you just didn’t lie to me.”</p><p>Shane opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. His limbs were numb and Shane felt himself falling although he never seemed to hit the floor. A high-pitched whistle screamed in his ears as everything around him blurred to white. When the world came back into focus Shane was on his back and staring at the ceiling. He was lying on something soft and there was a weight draped over his side. He couldn’t move. Then he saw Experience, looking down at him with his hand on the casket lid above him.</p><p>His chest hurt.</p><p>His heart hurt.</p><p>“You don’t want to be dead, Shane,” Experience said. “Trapped in a box for forever. Perhaps one day you’ll be prepared to accept my offer.”</p><p>He couldn’t breathe, but at the same time he didn’t feel starved of oxygen. There was little more to him than a reluctant consciousness and the sharp pain in his chest.</p><p>“One day,” Experience said, “you’ll know what’s good for you.”</p><p>The lid closed with a hollow thud and Shane was alone with Experience’s decayed body lying partially on top of him.</p><p>As seconds ticked by in the darkness the pain of the nail in his heart radiated through Shane’s body, growing more and more intense and unbearable. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t. It hurt so much that Shane couldn’t even see the darkness around him or feel the pillow under his head. It was so intense that he couldn’t think. Thoughts of Ryan and the plan and the library and Obi all fell aside, replaced by deafening pain.</p><p>The only other thing he could feel was the cold, rigid body that clung to him, with its mutilated hand just enough of a weight to soothe the ache; and focusing on it was as close as Shane could get to escape.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryan lifted himself out of the well, gasping his breaths and knowing that, above all, he needed to keep moving. His body ached from being scratched and thrown against the wall, the iron candelabras leaving deep, painful bruises along his side and down his legs. But still he pressed on, stumbling as he ran up the stairs.</p><p>He threw open the door, accidentally scaring Obi, who had been crying on the other side of it. The cat ran off, past the fallen dishes and towards the front door; and Ryan followed right behind him. Ryan pulled open that door too but that’s when he came to a sudden stop.</p><p>Although the front porch was covered by the roof, nearly two feet of heavy snow had gathered against the storm door from the heavy winds. Ryan shoved at the door, his back and shoulders stinging and throbbing in pain at the effort. If he hadn’t had gone through what he did, he may have been able to force the door open more than a few degrees; but that wasn’t the case now. Instead he more just leaned against it, the spell bag still secured around his wrist swinging uselessly against the door.  </p><p>Chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, still trying to recover from his climb up the well, Ryan tilted his head against the storm door’s windowpane. There was a flash of a moment when he just wanted to rest like that with the smooth coolness of the glass pressed against his warm brow. But as he looked out he saw the shed Shane had mentioned. It was a little dark building that was so nondescript for the area that he had never even noticed that it was there until that moment.</p><p>The sight of it alone giving Ryan a second wind, Ryan kept scanning over his view from the door. Although it wasn’t dawn yet, the sky had begun to turn from black to a deep blue. It wouldn’t be long before the first streaks of pink and orange would mark the horizon just beyond the forest.</p><p>Ryan was about to try shoving the door open again when he noticed something on the side of the house. Although there had been an incredible amount of snow, there wasn’t enough to even begin to obscure the tall windows of the parlor. Careful not to catch Obi underfoot, Ryan turned and rushed to that room, only to see that the windows were painted shut.</p><p>“God fucking dammit,” Ryan hissed, stepping over his and Shane’s nest of blankets to grab the shovel from the fireplace kit.</p><p>Although he was tempted to simply bash out the window, Ryan thought of the historical plaque he passed on the way in and decided against it. Instead he drove the flat edge of the shovel in the space between the two window panels, forcefully marking the trench where the two windows met and rattling old paint from the casement.</p><p>“Come on,” Ryan said through gritted teeth as he slammed the shovel against the wooden frame, wedging it between the window panes. “Fucking come on.”</p><p>To Ryan’s relief, the window began to move as dust and paint chips flecked off. It only took a few solid drags along the edge before the paint finally gave way and the window rattled open. As soon as it did a horribly cold gust blew in and seized Ryan in place. The last of the embers in the fireplace died as the house was filled with the numbing winter air.</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>Ryan was about to turn to get a heavier coat but he stopped when he saw the sky – its unearthly pre-dawn blueness creeping higher and higher.</p><p>He was running out of time.</p><p>Despite his better judgement, Ryan climbed out the window and sunk into the snow nearly up to his hips. The damp coldness wrapped around Ryan’s legs and he doubled over, wishing in that moment that he could deal with anything other than snow.</p><p>Ryan was shaking as he lifted himself out of the snowbank as much as he could, hating himself whenever he accidentally reached down to try to balance. The sensation of packed snow against his palms stung worse than he could have imagined with small, sharp ice crystals leaving little red marks on his skin. The clear, smooth snow field between Ryan and the shed looked nothing short of hellish in that moment, but he pressed on.</p><p>It took a few tries before Ryan was able to balance and be light on his feet enough to not sink down again. But between the frigid trembling and his legs shaking so hard they sometimes couldn’t move, Ryan somehow managed to get to the shed. However, there was no denying that the horizon was beginning to grow brighter.</p><p>Ryan staggered against the shed and grabbed at the doorknob – his hands numb with the cold. It was locked.</p><p>Not having as much compassion for the shed as he did the house, Ryan climbed up the snowbank to the small window on the side of the shed and slammed his forearm against the pane. With the first hit it fractured and with the second it snapped, large shards of old glass falling into the shed and catching onto the fabric of Ryan’s coat. He reached through the broken glass and forced the old window latch open.</p><p>When Ryan stepped down into the shed and onto the old workbench he nearly sobbed with relief that he was suddenly out of the snow and wind. However, what he saw made his heart skip a beat.</p><p>Lying in the middle of the floor, partially covered with a blanket, was a stag. Shane had told him that it would be there, but up until that moment everything about Shane’s instructions had felt incredibly abstract. Ryan approached the animal, hesitant even though its incredible stillness suggested that it was nothing more than a corpse. He knelt down beside its head and stopped to let his eyes trace the stag’s long, branching antlers. Uncertain, Ryan reached down and touched the side of the stag’s face, shocked to find that the body was still warm – like it was only sleeping even though it otherwise showed no sign of life.</p><p>Then Ryan remembered that something was supposed to be in his pocket. Hoping that it didn’t fall out, Ryan dug his hand in and immediately recoiled when he felt something slender and leathery. He put his hand back in and fished it out, only to immediately drop it onto the ground as soon as he saw what it was.</p><p>“Jesus Christ, Shane.”</p><p>Ryan left the mummified finger on the floor as he carefully opened the deer’s mouth. As the mouth opened Ryan’s hand was surrounded by warm, wet air and he instinctually pulled back.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Ryan assured himself as he carefully picked up the piece of Experience. “Who am I kidding? This isn’t fucking okay. I’m feeding a piece of a fucking person to a deer.”</p><p>Careful not to move the finger or the deer any more than strictly necessary, Ryan put the mummified remains deep into the deer’s mouth. As soon as his hand accidentally brushed against the deer’s tongue Ryan let go and scrambled backwards until his back hit the shed wall.</p><p>“Okay! There you go. I fed you your finger. You were hungry, right? That’s what I was supposed to do?”  </p><p>Ryan closed his eyes and ran Shane’s instructions through his head one more time.</p><p>“Daylight,” Ryan echoed. He looked at the window he came in through and his heart sank when he realized that it didn’t face east.</p><p>But the door did.</p><p>Ryan got up and went to the door, dragging the blanket off the stag as he passed. He fumbled at the doorknob in the dim light of pre-dawn and tried to turn the small push-button that locked the door, but it refused to move. Although his hands were still mostly numb, Ryan pounded the flat of his palm against the doorknob, hoping that whatever needed to move would simply fall into place. For a moment he was sure that the lock had frozen shut and needed to be heated up.</p><p>But only for a moment.</p><p>Because in the next moment he saw an ax.</p><p>“Holy shit.” He picked it up, impressed by the weight of it. “I always wanted an excuse to do this.”</p><p>He looked to the window again and saw the sky grow brighter before his eyes.</p><p>Time was almost up.</p><p>Before he could stand motionless for too long and let the ache catch up with his body, Ryan drew back the ax and brought it down on the door.</p><p>It took several swings before the head of the ax fell through the splintered wood. Ryan grunted and shouted with exertion as he pried the blade out of the wood and brought it down again, widening the narrow slit. As he worked his rhythm grew faster and erratic, his panting and forceful cries loud enough so he couldn’t hear the crashing, splintering sounds coming from the house.</p><p>It wasn’t until the hole was about as large as a human head that Ryan stopped, the ax clattering to the ground at his feet. The sky was pink and purple, cut out by the jagged silhouette of trees from the forest across the street. Then, streaking through the snow-topped barren branches was an incredible golden light.</p><p>Ryan stepped away from the door and looked down to the stag. A small beam of light carved its path across the floor and up along the powerful back of the creature. Ryan slouched against the wall and slid to the floor, his breaths forming small clouds in front of his lips. He closed his eyes and listened to his own racing heart and the distant sounds of birds, muted by the blanket of snow. He was entirely unaware that just moments ago, if he would have stopped working long enough, he would have heard the sounds of a house being torn apart; as if someone very powerful were looking for something.</p><p>Or someone.</p><p>Ryan heard a breath other than his own and his eyes shot open.</p><p>The stag began to move. It began with the rise and fall of heavy, labored breaths. Then it lifted its head and stretched its folded legs, hooves scratching against the concrete floor. Ryan looked to the window he came in from, but the way up was soon blocked by a nest of antlers, swaying and jerking back and forth as the stag got to its feet. It brayed, low and raspy, spittle falling from its wide, gaping mouth. Then it lowered its head and looked down at Ryan, recognition in its black eyes. Again it brayed, this time the sound more like a wheezing gasp and a harsh choke.</p><p>“You have no idea what you have done,” the stag said. Its voice sounded like a broken intake of air, forced and strangled in the throat.</p><p>Ryan pressed his back against the wall and grasped at the spell pouch still tied around his wrist.</p><p>“You did as he told you,” said the stag. “But you have no idea what he needs.”</p><p>“He needs something better than being cursed for the rest of his existence.”</p><p>“‘Cursed,’” the stag, or rather, Experience echoed. “You keep calling it a curse. Did you forget the alternative? I would hardly call another chance at living a curse. If I hadn’t have intervened he would have been dead long before he even dreamed up Xander. Then what would you have to talk to the cameras about?”</p><p>“All I’m saying…” Ryan said as he got to his feet, still clutching on tight to the spell pouch. “All I’m saying is that I don’t know what was going on with him, but clearly things were so bad that he didn’t see any alternative. You didn’t fix anything, you just kept him in that horrible place he was trying to escape from and forced him to figure things out on his own. Of course it’s a curse.”</p><p>“I saved him before.” Experience took a few steps closer to Ryan, his massive stag form almost too large for the shed. “And I’ll save him again; although this time from you.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>“Shane’s memory of you will destroy him.” The stag’s head tilted and it huffed a breath, fog forming around its mouth. “After all, the man he barely knew but trusted more than anything ultimately ran away at the first chance he got. Abandoned him. Never returned. Even after you were so certain that he was going to kill himself at dawn, you left. What kind of toll would that take on him? Knowing he was such a fool… a fool for someone who doesn’t even care if he lives or dies.”</p><p>“I’m not running away,” Ryan said.</p><p>“It’s what he’ll think.”</p><p>Ryan’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. “And then that would just leave you, wouldn’t it?”</p><p>“The one who never leaves.”</p><p>“You’re repulsive.”</p><p>The stag straightened its neck and looked down its nose at Ryan as antlers lightly scraped across the ceiling beams. “You only say that because you can’t imagine anyone doing this for someone for anything other than sex. Is that all you want?”</p><p>“You’re fucking holding him captive and waiting for Stockholm syndrome to sink in. He’s a hostage.”</p><p>“‘Hostage’?” The stag’s eyes flashed. “He’s not the only one stuck here until there’s a change of fate. I’m not free. If anything, I’ve been trapped here longer. And a tender kiss or a long night together wasn’t enough to break the spell I was under, even when we were both properly alive. Look at me, do I look free?!”</p><p>The stag kicked out its back legs, hitting over clay pots and a spade. The antlers knocked dust from the ceiling, raining it down onto Ryan. Keeping a solid grip on the spell bag, Ryan started moving towards the window.</p><p>“I died holding him,” Experience said. “And when I live again I will awaken to feel his heartbeat. What you have done isn’t going to stop that. Spells can be altered… reversed. After all, there’s more than one way for a deer to eat part of a dead body.”</p><p>“You can’t kill me,” Ryan said as he stepped towards the window and held out the spell bag. “You can’t even touch me.”</p><p>“That thing protects against malicious spirits.” The stag moved between Ryan and the window, its antlers lowered. “And I’m not just a spirit anymore, am I?”</p><p>The stag charged as Ryan ducked away, but not quickly enough. The antler caught the back of Ryan’s coat and choked him as it dragged him backwards and onto the floor. Ryan coughed, small points of light dancing before his eyes as he got his breath back under him. He scrambled backwards against the door and tried once again to force it open but the lock remained stuck.</p><p>It was then that his gaze traveled down to the ax.</p><p>The stag charged again and its antlers crashed into the door, the only thing preventing the animal from charging forward and driving the antler’s points into Ryan’s chest and throat. Afraid to move away, Ryan stretched his leg towards the ax and dragged it across the floor until it was in his hands again. Seeing this, the stag pulled back and, as much as it could in the too-small confines of the shed, reared back and brought down its front hooves on either side of Ryan’s legs. Again, it lowered its head to strike and, not wanting to test his luck any longer, Ryan swung at the creature.</p><p>The blade of the ax sank into the stag’s neck and it cried out, its voice far more animal than human. Ryan drew back the ax, its curved blade wet and red with blood that dripped down onto him. Before he could strike again the stag swung its antlers, knocking Ryan over and nearly pulling the ax from his hands.</p><p>“He can’t survive without my spell,” Experience said between the stag’s long belts of pain. “If you kill me he will d-”</p><p>Ryan swung into the creature’s neck again, this time the blade sinking in deep and spilling blood across the floor. Pulled away from the door, the threat of the stag’s antlers and hooves surrounded him, even more so as it writhed in pain. The next swing collided with the side of the stag’s head and it collapsed.</p><p>Ryan instinctively let go of the ax and backed up against the wall, horrified at what he had done. The creature that had once towered over him now lay dying, a dark pool of blood spilling from the deep gashes in its neck. Ryan felt sick. He had never hunted, never needed to defend himself, never had to kill more than a cockroach before. It felt wrong; and the stag’s labored gasps held Ryan in the grim reality of what he had just done.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>The stag didn’t answer, its body shaking in shock and its eyes a wide panic.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Ryan repeated, getting up and taking the ax in his hands again. “I’m not going to let you suffer. It’s over now.”</p><p>A glimmer of acknowledgement and intelligence caught the stag’s pained expression. It spoke again, softer now and barely audible through the ragged breaths.</p><p>“I loved him.”</p><p>For a moment Ryan didn’t want to acknowledge that. However, there was something about the stag or perhaps even Experience that Ryan couldn’t ignore. Although he didn’t want to offer the man anything, Ryan felt that familiar sickness and pity he did when he first saw the stag fall.</p><p>“I know,” Ryan said, his voice soft as he knelt down and put a hand on the stag’s antlers, holding it in place. “You won’t have to hurt anymore either.”</p><p>Ryan brought the ax down on the deer’s neck again and the body fell limp. In the sudden cold stillness of the cabin Ryan could see steam rise from the wound and heard his own labored breaths once more. He set the ax down and leaned against the workbench under the window. Whatever fears or reservations he had earlier about what he had done seemed to fall aside to a strange numbness. Perhaps it was shock. Perhaps it was his conflicted feelings of hurting something innocent and hurting someone who had done nothing less than torture Shane for centuries. Whatever it was, Ryan was sure that it would keep him awake at night. But for now, all he could feel was a dull ache all over his body and his racing heart.</p><p>Ryan climbed out of the shed and into the snow, the blood on his shoes and coat staining it a sickening pink. The freezing coldness around his legs barely registered in Ryan’s mind as he followed his footsteps back to the house and climbed in through the parlor window.</p><p>Before he stepped inside he would have sworn that he saw something large moving far down the road, snow parting for it like a wave.</p><p>The room was a mess. Books were pulled off the shelves and scattered across the floor. Across the hallway in the dining room he could see the table turned over and the chairs knocked aside. It was then that he heard Obi crying.</p><p>Ryan followed the sound to the basement door and found Obi scratching and clawing around where it met its frame. He opened the door for the cat and Obi rushed down the stairs. Ryan trailed him down into the basement and ran over to pick him up as Obi jumped onto the edge of the well.</p><p>“I’ll carry you,” Ryan said to the squirming cat in his arms. “I’ll carry you.”</p><p>Ryan maneuvered Obi onto his shoulder, stepped over the edge of the well, and climbed down. He tried to ignore the ache down his back and the way Obi’s claws dug into his skin, just as he tried to ignore the flecks of blood on his coat. He climbed past the library and lowered himself down to the tomb at the bottom of the well. As soon as he put his feet on solid ground, Obi jumped off his shoulder and ran up to the casket. As much as Ryan didn’t want to look back in, he had to face the reality that Shane didn’t seem to be anywhere else. So, reluctantly, he lifted the lid.</p><p>Shane was still inside but he looked different from the body that was in there earlier. He was pale and a cold sweat beaded on his brow and over his lip. His eyes were wide and vacant, even as he looked up at Ryan. Shane’s hand was between the corpse’s and his chest, a deep red visible between his fingers. His shallow breaths cut through the silence of the room, slowly growing louder as they turned into a quavering sob.</p><p>Ryan’s eyes widened and he reached down, slipping his hand under Experience’s to press Shane’s hand down on the seeping wound. As he did Shane bit back a cry but at the same time he reached for Ryan’s arm with his non-bloodied hand, holding him in place.</p><p>Shane drew in a sharp breath before saying, “He’s gone.”</p><p>Ryan nodded. “He’s gone.”</p><p>Another breath. “I’m sorry.” Shane’s grip on Ryan’s arm tightened, his eyes watering. “I’m sorry about all of this.”</p><p>Ryan shook his head and cupped Shane’s face in his hand, feeling his warmth and chill all at once. Ever since Ryan learned that what Shane had told him had all been real, Ryan didn’t have a moment to just think about what it meant. There were a few hours that night when whenever Ryan looked at Shane he saw a stranger; a sad, ill, frightened stranger. But he knew now that that never should have replaced the man he had come to know over the past few days. Shane was the same person who comforted him, who indulged him, who genuinely listened to every theory and every soft, distant sound that Ryan knew was something supernatural. He was the man who had always rushed to protect Ryan, even when they barely knew each other.</p><p>And even now.</p><p>“This isn’t your fault,” Ryan said, wiping away a tear as it slid down the side of Shane’s face. He looked down at Shane’s chest. “I’m going to call you an ambulance.”</p><p>“Don’t leave me.”</p><p>“You’re in shock and you’re bleeding from the heart, you need a doctor.” Ryan let go of Shane’s face and checked his phone, knowing before even reaching for it that he didn’t have a signal. “And I need to go back upstairs to do it.”</p><p>“Please don’t go.”</p><p>Ryan’s brow furrowed and he bit at his lip. He pocketed his phone again and took Shane’s hand, palm closing over cold knuckles. “I know… I know you faced over 350 years of him saying this. But, Shane… I can’t let you die.”</p><p>Shane closed his eyes, breaths shaking as he tried to breathe deep. His grip on Ryan’s arm tightened.</p><p>“I know,” Ryan echoed. “But if I just let it happen I would live the rest of my life in guilt.”</p><p>“It’s not that.”</p><p>Ryan rubbed his thumb over the side of Shane’s hand as he looked down at him, studying his pallid cheeks and the soft crease of his brow.</p><p>“Ryan,” he said, eyes opening again. “I… I don’t want to go.”</p><p>A tear slid down the side of Shane’s face and Ryan quickly wiped it away, only for another to gently kiss his fingertips. “I’ll call an ambulance.”</p><p>Shane nodded and let out a vocal, shaking breath as Ryan let go of him. As much as Ryan wanted to make the call and go right back down to him, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to. What if they needed him to clear a path and help them down? And what if the EMTs were too late? Every path to the worst-case scenario suddenly became all too clear and Ryan froze.</p><p>In the moment of stillness Obi leapt up from the floor and into the casket, landing clumsily on Shane and Experience’s legs. Ryan quickly picked him up.</p><p>“Obi, not now.”</p><p>“It’s alright,” Shane said, motioning for Ryan to set him back down on top of him. “He’s always looked after me and that’s not about to change now.”</p><p>Ryan set Obi down on Shane’s stomach, watching as the cat tucked his legs under him and lay down. Shane scratched Obi’s ears, and closed his eyes, surely able to feel the soft purr that Ryan could only just barely hear. As strange as it seemed, Obi being there made Ryan feel better about heading back upstairs and leaving Shane lying in the tomb.</p><p>“I’ll go make that call now,” Ryan said, backing away.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“I l-”</p><p>No. That was too much. And, after all that had happened, felt almost selfish in its sentiment.</p><p>“I’ll be here for you,” Ryan decided on.</p><p>For a few seconds Shane said nothing as Ryan backed out of the room. But then as he turned to leave he heard another soft, “Thank you.”</p><p>As Ryan stepped into the well and grabbed a hold of the cable he took one last look into the small room. There was movement from the casket and Expereince’s skeletal body was lifted out of it and fell to the floor. Shane’s hand draped over the side of the casket, weakly trailing after the body he had thrown out. He then drew his hand back in and rested it on the back of Obi’s head, just visible from over the edge of the casket.</p><p>“You’re a good boy, Obi,” Ryan heard Shane say.</p><p>Ryan looked up to the distant, gaping opening of the well and began lifting himself out towards the surface one more time.</p><p>“You’re a good boy.”</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>PART IV</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The world around Shane was bright and warm. His chest hurt, as if his bones resisted every breath that he took. He put his hand over his heart and quickly drew back, the skin tender and covered in soft, white bandages. And there were things connected to his arm and neck– strange clips and wires he had only seen passively on Mr. Barclay’s television and led to boxy machines next to the bed. There was a needle in his left arm that was connected to a hanging bag of clear liquid.</p><p>He was alive.</p><p>There wasn’t much that Shane was able to remember after Ryan left to call for help. Hell, he didn’t even know how long he waited in agony to be freed from what Experience had ultimately cursed him to. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. At the end of it, Shane had already begun to see Experience’s hand over his chest as a welcome relief from the pain, even though he knew how wrong that was. He didn’t like to think of how quickly he could have turned into exactly what Experience wanted him to be if he would have been held there for much longer.</p><p>Shane tried not to think about it and instead focused his thoughts on the too-bright room. He resented trading out one bed he couldn’t move from for another, but he tried not to think about that either. He was aware, he could move, and that was far more freedom than what he had in the casket. It was promising, although Shane wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. He had often wanted an escape from the prison of his spiritual form and from the confines of the Xander house, but not like this. Not in any way that even suggested a life beyond it. It was new, frightening, but, oddly, not unwanted.</p><p>He began to feel tired again and settled back into the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. As soon as he did a door opened and a woman in pale green clothes looked in.</p><p>“Oh good, you’re awake.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next few hours were a parade of doctors, nurses, and police. They all spoke bluntly and for frustratingly short amounts of time before leaving as “this isn’t good for your heart.” Although, Shane often found himself thankful for the short reprieves between bouts of information. Despite the police’s insistence, he refused to press charges and was able to keep the “evidence” that was pulled out of him. At that moment, the old house nail sat in a little plastic vial next to his bed. Shane had only been allowed to touch it for about a half hour and he had already lost track of how many times he had turned it over in his hands and stared at the sigil inscription. There was probably something very morbid or masochistic about keeping the thing that was used to curse him for so long, but it had become a part of him, whether he wanted it to or not.</p><p>There was a knock at the door and Shane instinctively sighed. He knew that so many years of limited interaction probably should have made him grateful that he was no longer isolated, but his visitors had become so frequent that it felt like they were deliberately trying to interrupt his thoughts. Still he said:</p><p>“Come in."</p><p>The door opened and the curtain pulled aside as Ryan stepped into the room, looking tired and carrying a large shopping bag. He looked around, taking a moment to stare at the humming machines that Shane was connected to. In that moment Shane was suddenly very self-conscious of his own frailty and tried to sit up a little straighter in the bed. However, instead of looking at him with the same pity that everyone else had, Ryan only smiled. Just as the first time Shane saw him smile, it was broad and radiant and it felt like he had waited centuries to see it.</p><p>“Hey,” Ryan said, sliding the curtain closed behind him.</p><p>Shane tried to greet him in response, but all he could do was breathe a soft laugh.</p><p>“Is this alright?” Ryan asked as he approached Shane. “I know it’s late.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Shane said, nodding to the chair beside his bed.</p><p>As Ryan got closer Shane could see the dark circles under his eyes and the stiffness of his gait. He must have been awake for more than thirty hours at this point and Shane wasn’t sure how he was still conscious. When he shed his coat Shane could see bruises around his wrists that he didn’t remember being there before.</p><p>“You look rough,” Shane said.</p><p>“Look who’s talkin’.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>Ryan groaned as he sat back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling as if he were trying to remember something from years ago. “I called the EMTs; luckily the road was finally cleared by the time I did. They were able to hoist you out of the well and took you right to the hospital. The police came too. I was arrested and that took… a while. Spent all afternoon talking to BuzzFeed’s legal department – since there were no charges it looks like they’ll be able to keep this quiet, although they made it clear that they would be looking into this themselves. And they’re settling with Barclay out of court for the property damage and… deer removal, I guess. I don’t know what to call it.”</p><p>“Ryan, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that they would think you-”</p><p>“-Then, after I got out, I went back to collect my things and…” he nodded down at the bag “…get a few things for you.”</p><p>Ryan picked up the bag, set it on the mattress, and quickly began digging through it. Shane lightly touched his arm and Ryan stopped, a sudden, tired sadness in his eyes.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Shane asked. “Did they hurt you?”</p><p>Ryan frowned and shrugged. “Cuffs were a little tight. I mean it… it wasn’t…” His eyes started to water and he quickly rubbed at them. “I’m sorry, it’s been a very long day and I’m really stressed out.” He shook his head. “You’re worried about me and, Shane, you just had heart surgery.”</p><p>“Technically, yes. But, Ryan, I spent almost all of today asleep.”</p><p>Ryan rubbed his eyes again. “I’m just glad you’re alright. Obi’s okay too, by the way, Mark and Devon smuggled him back to the hotel and are looking after him on my request.”</p><p>Shane smiled and sighed contentedly. Obi was one of the many factors in all this that he had been worrying over since he woke up. “Thank you.”</p><p>“I know he’s your little guy,” Ryan said. “Everyone loves him. He already has a small cache of toys that Mark found in some drugstore.”</p><p>“Yeah, he has that effect on people.”</p><p>Ryan tilted the bag towards him and began rummaging around and piling things on the bed. “I ran by a few stores. Picked up some things for you. Most of this is clothes. I don’t know what fits. With the sweatpants I just sort of held them up and tried to remember how tall you are. I mean, none of this is very elaborate, just something to wear out of the hospital.”</p><p>Shane picked up something blue and stiff from the pile. It was a jacket made of a soft denim with a pearl-like button on each of its pockets. “Some of it’s <em>a little</em> elaborate.”</p><p>“I mean, you need some kind of jacket. And when I saw it I thought it would look nice on you. I mean. Well. I mean, it’s freezing outside so you need a-”</p><p>“-I like it.”</p><p>Ryan stopped babbling and settled back into his chair again. “Oh. Good.”</p><p>Shane picked up the bag; there was something else in it. “What’s this?”</p><p>“Oh, well it seems kinda silly in retrospect. But I know how boring hospitals can be and thought that you might want something to do while you’re recovering other than watch daytime television.”</p><p>Shane dug into the bag and took out a book. “<em>Tutankhamun: Collected Writings on the Boy King</em>,” he read.</p><p>“The bookstore was closing and I just grabbed the first book I saw on him. I don’t know if it’s any good. I just remembered how excited you were talking about his tomb. If this is actually about, like, the economy of ancient Egypt or something kinda dull then I can take it back tomorrow.”</p><p>“Ryan, this was so thoughtful. I’m sure that whatever’s in here will be fascinating. I like history.”</p><p>“Well, you lived through a lot of it. So to speak.”</p><p>“Even before all this. I remember when I was in New Amsterdam and I heard about how in the 1500s there were a bunch of people in the Holy Roman Empire who danced until they-”</p><p>The door to the hospital room opened and a nurse pulled the curtain aside to look in.</p><p>“Sir,” she said, looking at Ryan. “Visiting hours are over for today. And the doctors have recommended limited visitation for Mr. Madej for the time being.”</p><p>Ryan didn’t turn towards her, instead only looking down at the pile of clothing as the weariness in his eyes grew heavier.  </p><p>“Please give him a little longer,” Shane said. “I’ve been wanting to see him all day.”</p><p>The nurse looked at her clipboard. “I-”</p><p>Ryan turned to face the nurse. “I’m his fiancé,” he said. “And I just got off work.”</p><p>Shane tried to hide his surprise at that, instead focusing on the nurse, who looked between the two before nodding in understanding.</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“I’ll chase him out within the hour,” Shane said, putting his hand over Ryan’s. “Don’t worry about us.”</p><p>The nurse backed up to the door and said, “Call if you need anything,” before she left.</p><p>Shane looked over at Ryan, who turned back to him with cheeks flushed a soft red. “What was that all about?”</p><p>“That wasn’t a proposal,” Ryan quickly said. “I just hoped that that would make her give us some space. I don’t know why I said it. First thing that came into my mind. I mean, I don’t think that ‘brother’ would have been believable and-”</p><p>“-It’s okay,” Shane said. “It worked. Bought us a little more time.”</p><p>“Sorry. It was a little much.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Shane assured him.</p><p>Ryan took a deep breath and picked the clothes back up, folding them into the bag. “You know, it’s funny. I spent all day wanting to talk to you about what happened and instead I end up talking about <em>myself</em> and putting my foot in my mouth at the first available chance.”</p><p>“Ryan,” Shane said, a soft laugh in his voice as he reached out and put a hand on his arm again. “It’s okay.”</p><p>Ryan sighed. “Although, on a more practical note, I should probably warn you that they’re going to try to figure out who you are so they can bill you.”</p><p>Shane shrugged. “As soon as they take all these things off of me they’ll forget I was ever here. I still have spells, after all.”</p><p>“True,” Ryan said. “But what about after? Where will you go?”</p><p>“I… don’t know,” Shane said. “Honestly, I never thought I’d get this far.”</p><p>“Well, I’m just saying, if you ever want to move out to sunny California with me I can make some room in my apartment.”</p><p>“For your ‘fiancé?’ I certainly hope so.”</p><p>Ryan wheezed. “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”</p><p>Shane smiled and moved over a little on the bed. “Come up here and lie down. You sound like you need the rest.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Ryan said, unlacing his boots and stepping out of them. “I really am making that offer, though. I mean, since you didn’t intend to be in this situation and I kinda got you into it. I feel that it’s the honorable thing to do- oh god now I sound like I got you pregnant. What is wrong with me?”</p><p>“Rev. Underhill would never approve of this union,” Shane said, rearranging the pillows on the small bed.</p><p>“Jesus Christ.”</p><p>Shane watched as Ryan lay down, careful not to touch anything attached to Shane. “But I would gladly move in with you if you would let me,” he said. “I don’t know what I would do for work, though. I’d like to get back into teaching if I could.”</p><p>“As lax as education can be in California, I think I’ll first try to get you a job with me at BuzzFeed. Perhaps they could use another researcher.” Ryan closed his eyes as he settled onto the mattress. “But focus on recovering right now. We can sort this out on the plane. Oh shit, you’ll need a state ID, won’t you? Unless you can Jedi Mind Trick your way through security.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I’ll figure it out in the morning, right now I need to calm down so I can sleep tonight.”</p><p>“You worry too much,” Shane said.</p><p>Ryan peeked through his fingers at Shane before turning onto his side. “I just want this to work.”</p><p>Shane put an arm around him, fascinated at how easily Ryan fit into his embrace – as if they were made to hold each other. “We’ll figure something out.”</p><p>“The crew has been looking over the footage they shot,” Ryan said, changing the subject. “They like you, you know. They think we work well together and so do I. Perhaps you could co-host <em>Unsolved </em>when you come back to LA with me.” </p><p>“Would it be that interesting? I mean, I don’t believe in ghosts. I meant it when I told you that earlier.”</p><p>“Which is just wild to me,” Ryan said. “It makes no sense that you don’t believe in ghosts.”</p><p>“It makes perfect sense.”</p><p>Ryan pressed up against him as he got comfortable. “I’m not getting into this right now.”   </p><p>Shane closed his eyes as he felt the slight, gentle pressure of Ryan’s body against his. He was right were Experience had lay for centuries, partially draped over him. Shane tried to push the association out of his mind, even though he knew that he would carry it with him for quite likely the rest of his life.</p><p>“Ryan?” Shane asked as he stared up at the ceiling. “Back at the house, before you called for help, you were about to tell me something.”</p><p>“Oh,” Ryan said, his voice slightly muffled as he rested his face against Shane’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it wasn’t important.”</p><p>“Can you try to remember? I think it was.”</p><p>Ryan propped himself up on his arm and smiled playfully down at Shane. “I don’t think you want me to say it. Talking hasn’t exactly been my strong point tonight.”</p><p>“I never said you needed to use words.”</p><p>Ryan laughed softly, shaking his head as a blush tinted his ears and neck. “‘I never said you needed to use words.’ You fucking already know. You’re just going to make me say it myself.”</p><p>“Because I love you too.”</p><p>Ryan’s lips moved in an odd sort of way, as if he tried to speak but couldn’t stop smiling. He bit at his lower lip as he lifted himself so he was poised over Shane, who let himself sink comfortably into the mattress. There was a brightness in Ryan’s deep, tired eyes as they stared down into Shane’s for several long seconds before their gaze trailed to his lips.</p><p>“Wait for me to say it first, you idiot,” Ryan said, the incredible fondness in his voice betraying his words.</p><p>“Oh, I’m waitin-”</p><p>Shane was cut off as Ryan finally brought their lips together, the kiss soft and chaste. It lingered, Shane getting accustomed to the sensation and taste of Ryan against him. Shane’s hand lightly combed through Ryan’s thick hair and Ryan’s fingertips caressed down Shane’s jawline. A soft sound formed in Shane’s throat, lost between a whimper and a sigh and muffled against the kiss. It was a muted, quiet, gentle surrender, echoed in Ryan’s contented hum.</p><p>As they kissed, Shane wasn’t even sure there was a “last time” when he felt as safe and as loved. It was a 350 year wait, but he somehow found himself exactly where he always needed to be. An incredible sense of relief swept over him as his broken, scarred heart began to race.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading. A moodboard for this story can be found <a href="https://spooky-chapscher.tumblr.com/post/614535817544744960/three-days-until-dawn-by-chapscher-once-every">here</a>, on my BFU tumblr. And don't forget to support the boys by subscribing to Watcher.</p>
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